


Project Gone Awry

by FlyingMocha



Category: James May's Man Lab RPF, James May's Toy Stories, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Episode Related, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, M/M, Slow Burn, engineering notebooks galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:57:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMocha/pseuds/FlyingMocha
Summary: When James begins working to bring Toy Stories from wishful thinking into reality, he expects the project to influence the way he and others view the toys of his youth, but he is completely unprepared for the change it brings to his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A later chapter of this story contains one thoroughly-described sexual encounter, which you can skip if you prefer. I'll put a warning in the notes for that particular chapter, so just watch for it. You'll miss a little character development by doing that, but it's purely related to the characters' sexuality, not overall storyline stuff.
> 
> And, as we all know, it's fiction. Totally made up. Any resemblance to reality is unintentional on my part. If I had that kind of power, I'd be writing stories about world peace, winning lottery numbers, and full-size Toblerone bars, not nerds in love.

James May wasn't one to get nervous, certainly not about meeting new people. Early on, sure, but handling public interaction is normal when you work in television, and he'd long ago adjusted to the version of reality in which there was no room for social anxiety underneath his easygoing, approachable exterior. How he'd developed the skill of being unflappable, he wasn't entirely sure. He suspected it wasn't a skill so much as he'd just become numb to the weirdness of having to interact with perfect strangers to such a degree that the life had been strangled out of whatever stage fright he may have naturally had. Just another perk of this amazing thing life had handed him, he supposed.

So of course he didn't bother to get nervous when he pitched a new show idea to the BBC. He didn't get nervous when they spent weeks deliberating on whether or not to fund his plan to make old-fashioned toys relevant by using them to create the grandiose childhood fantasies of many a frustrated accountant. He didn't get nervous when they approved it… well, maybe slightly nervous that Clarkson and Hammond might actually hit him if he didn't stop randomly blurting out ideas for the project while they were trying their damnedest to get clattered in whatever hotel bar they wandered into after a day's filming on location.

To avoid irritating his co-workers, he bought a notebook for his toy-related thoughts, and continued happily along his path of anti-nervousness as he plotted out the toys he wanted to use, names of producers and other staff he'd worked with in the past and thought might be a good match for the concept, even a few show names -- Toy Stories seemed to be the best, although he'd have to run that one by the lawyers and be sure the Mouse over in California wasn't going to take umbrage at the similarity between his pokey little show and its movie franchise. The Mouse has good lawyers, and quite a lot of them, after all. All right, so he was slightly bothered by that, but it was of no real consequence; if he needed another show title, then he simply did.

He did start to get a little bit nervous when he started talking with toy manufacturers about his ideas, investigating what it would take to build on the grand scale he envisioned. The budget was one thing, although he might be able to convince some manufacturers to lend or donate products, given the possibility that their merchandise may experience a bit of a renaissance as a result of his work. But being told that it couldn't be done… that was tougher to deal with. James had never been one to particularly heed warnings like that. He tended to live by the idea that those who say a thing is impossible should have the decency to stay out of his way while he does it. But ultimately, after discussing the matter with various set designers, props specialists, and people whose job it is to make grandiose stuff on a tiny BBC budget, James came to the conclusion that the toy manufacturers were right. He couldn't do this.

But one thing life had taught James was that just because he couldn't do something, didn't make it impossible. It just meant he needed to consult with an expert who could help him. He couldn't realise the dream he'd been approved to create, but somebody with a proper engineering background probably could.

And so he'd spoken with a few more people, and one of them gave James the name of someone with an engineering background, who had experience in using ill-suited materials to accomplish the impossible, a tiny bit of experience working in front of a camera, and even better, was dirt-cheap. Which was how he came to be in this corner coffee shop, waiting to meet yet another new person. And, if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he was slightly nervous to hand over his notebook of poorly-sketched plans and ludicrously super-sized ideas, to somebody who… he had no idea if this person was going to take him seriously or not. It was an excited sort of nervous, the kind of feeling he got before starting a new Top Gear series, with some trepidation about the tasks and challenges that lie ahead, and a little wariness of the new people, but excitement about the good things that would come, as well.

He wasn't sure who he was meeting, exactly. He hadn't bothered to do any preliminary research. This was someone he would be working closely with, if negotiations went well, and James preferred to meet people without preconceived notions about who or what they might be. He thought he'd known who Clarkson was before taking the Top Gear job, after all, and he'd been wrong about that… well, mostly. Jezza was just as obnoxious as expected, but he was also a trusted friend, one of those people James knew he could call anytime, with any problem. His prior knowledge had only served to make it harder to get to know the man behind the television persona, and James decided after that experience that googling a person before meeting them wasn't very helpful to him.

So he'd brought the bloke's name and mobile number with him, just in case, but that was all; he hadn't even opened the email in which his BBC contact had attached a photo of his prospective project manager. He was content to sip his tea and watch people enter the shop, letting his mind wander anywhere and everywhere. Most customers strutted up to the counter with the confidence of a regular customer, knowing exactly what they wanted and how much it cost. Some carried themselves like everybody else was supposed to notice how important they are, while others moved as though they expected to fade into the background, just extras in the cast of life. People who walked by this shop on their way to work every day, his imagination filled in… a high-priced lawyer, a housekeeper loading up on caffeine before a busy day, a taxi driver on break, a university student running late for class. (That one was less of a challenge as she was carrying books, wearing a sweatshirt that bore the logo of the university two blocks away, and she was actually running.)

He watched a young professional-looking woman wander in, scanning the room as if trying to orient herself in unfamiliar surroundings, a leather-covered notebook held loosely in one hand. She approached another well-dressed woman and shook hands, giving James the impression that it was perhaps an interview. Maybe her first after graduating university, James mused. Maybe she was interviewing a prospective new nanny. Maybe they were business partners who'd met online and now they were meeting in the coffee shop to plan world domination in the up-and-coming market of… James' imagination faltered as a tall, slender man entered, pausing and looking around as if to orientate himself, in the same way that the woman had. Ooh. Yes, this one would be fun to watch.

Long, dark shaggy hair and a perhaps-Mediterranean complexion made James' imagination cast him as a foreign citizen, looking for a quick caffeine buzz while on vacation, although something about his jeans and cable-knit jumper just screamed "London". He wasn't sure if the man was trying to hide behind the frames of his black glasses, or if they were meant to fade into the background along with his mostly-black hair, drawing attention to the absolutely stunning colour of his eyes. Gorgeous, there was really no better-fitting word to describe the slender man. Other than incredibly fuckable, perhaps, but James always felt there was a certain personality that had to go along with looks, to be worthy of that term. He watched as the man glanced at each occupied table, quickly and systematically. Clearly, he was meeting somebody… a first date with a work acquaintance, perhaps, James' imagination helpfully supplied. Or maybe -- 

"James May?" the slender man asked as he took the three or so steps from the door to James' corner table, a faint smile playing on his lips. Ahh. A fan here for a meeting, just happening to catch sight of him, probably wanting a photo. Best not to enjoy the sight of this one too carefully, then, lest it end up as an embarrassing tale on a fan site somewhere. James wanted to grumble, wanted to fade into obscurity and ogle without reservation, but this was a known side effect of the life he'd found himself in possession of. And it wasn't like he was busy with his meeting yet.

"Yes, hello," James said, manners kicking in and forcing him to rise in a polite greeting, accepting the offered handshake. The faint smile only got bigger, and the entire shop seemed to get a little brighter.

"Simeon Oakley. It's nice to meet you."

Oh, cock.

**Now** he was nervous.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't mean to keep you waiting," Oakley said, his room-illuminating smile still firmly in place, "but would you mind if I get a tea before we talk?" James mutely nodded and gestured towards the counter in agreement, then eased himself back into his seat, watching the younger man dump a nice but well-used bookbag into the available chair at the table James had commandeered. Then he turned towards the counter and James' heart damn near stopped, at the discovery that the view from this side was just as stunning as from the front.

James ran a hand through his long, irritatingly greying hair. He had no idea if he wanted this negotiation to go well or not. He desperately wanted to spend more time with this man, he had to acknowledge, but he also knew that it would probably be nothing but wank fodder. He was probably straight, probably taken, probably… definitely not interested in a pudgy old man. And even if James were wrong about any of that, he certainly wasn't here for anything more than a job interview. It could be painfully awkward to work with someone to whom he found himself physically attracted. Or just plain painful, he admitted as he skillfully shifted in his seat, tugging his jeans to make a little extra room up front without being obvious about it. Ah, well. It wasn't the first time; he could handle it if this bloke was as good a fit for Toy Stories as he'd been told.

A moment later, the younger man returned to his seat with a cup of tea that, he could tell by the smell of it, definitely met with James' approval. "The BBC lady… I can't recall her name, I'm sorry… she already gave me the budget for the position, so this meeting is really just to explore your ideas and see if we'd like to work together." James took a sip of tea, frowned and gave it a quick stir, then another sip, as he gathered his thoughts.

"Tell me what kinds of things you've worked on in the recent past, Mr Oakley," James began. The younger man's features wrinkled up at that.

"I go by Sim, please," he said. James repeated the requested nickname politely, nodding, which provoked another smile from the younger man. Oh, cock. That smile was nothing short of amazing. It took just a moment for James to engage his ears again and catch up to Sim's overview of his recent work, which seemed to be a wide variety of projects and purposes. He took a book from his bag, showing a few photographs of projects, things that looked incredibly creative, things that were impressive given the budgets and restraints he was mentioning as he pointed to each one. It was the series of photos from another BBC show, Scrapheap Challenge, that really caught James' eye. Unlike some of his other projects, these were meant to be temporary constructions, designed for a specific purpose, typically using substandard materials and rushed techniques, built by teams whose expertise was a bit questionable -- hence the provision of a tech expert such as Sim.

James picked a photo at random, from this collection. It sort of looked like it showed some skills that might be handy in his proposed show. "Do you have any sketched plans or further information about this project?" he asked. Sim smiled and leaned over his bag, rummaging around. He wasn't very tidy, James observed as he glanced sideways down into the bag that looked more like a child's school bag than a professional portfolio. The younger man drew out a computer this time, which apparently was already turned on given how quickly Sim was able to log in and use it. Points awarded for preparedness, there.

"Here, let me…" Sim muttered as he scooted around the table, sitting closer to James so they could share the screen. The scent of machine oil and… whatever that odour was that came along with welding, hit James full-force at that point, emanating from… James wasn't sure. Maybe it was from the computer, which obviously saw a lot of use in a workshop. Maybe this man just naturally smelled like work. It was an intoxicating, masculine scent, the kind of thing James had always been severely attracted to. Oh, cock.

Sim breezed effortlessly through his file structure, obviously perceiving a sense of order among the chaos. A truly creative mind, James decided, having some familiarity with the way that genius and cleanliness often were, at best, wary acquaintances who merely nodded politely at one another from across the room. Strong, capable fingers tapped here and there, mousing with intent, and James found himself already imagining what those fingers looked like wrapped around tools, expertly crafting raw materials to his will… expertly teasing James' -- oh, cock.

Where the hell had that come from? Shoving those thoughts aside, he forced himself to focus on the drawings, animated models, and textual explanations of the project he'd asked about. It was far more complex than anything James thought he'd need for his toy idea. Yes, he decided. If Sim was willing to accept the project, this would work. This was the expert who could breathe life into his dreams. He asked several questions just out of personal curiosity, then let the conversation flow to a natural pause before drawing his own notebook to the centre of their workspace.

"I will warn you, I cannot draw," James said with a nervous chuckle. "But, here are some of the ideas I've been kicking around." With that, he began flipping through his notebook, full of stick-figure style drawings of giant model aeroplanes, an entire building of Lego bricks, a Scalextric race track across half a badly-drawn city… he didn't get halfway through his pitch when Sim had slid the notebook closer to himself, flipping back and forth through the pages as a small mischievous smile played across his features.

"This is crazy, you know that, right?" he said, turning to look at his interviewer. James might have taken offence at the question, except that all he saw in Sim's eyes was the sparkle of excitement and fascination. It was exactly the look James wanted to inspire in his viewers, through the Toy Stories project… and dear lord, those eyes were beautiful.

"But is it possible?" James asked. That was the real question, the one he was supposed to be here to ask.

Sim' s interested little smile gave way to a full, million-watt grin, causing James' insides to attempt to upend themselves. "I have no idea. But I'd love to find out."

Oh, cock.

Of all the thoughts swirling in his head, James struggled to find the important ones. They would need to negotiate the money stuff a bit, figure out what Sim could and couldn't do, whether he was open to hanging around the pub talking about the projects as James tended to do, and probably a lot of other things that James' brain was trying to think about all in one go. Oh, bollocks. All of that could wait for later. For now, he simply needed to ensure that that fascinated, eager smile became a part of this project. "I'll have the contract sent over to you later today," James said, extending his hand in the appropriate end-of-meeting gesture. His words were met with yet another endearing grin. This was going to be a long project.


	3. Chapter 3

James jolted awake, slapped at his phone screen until its alarm quieted, then ran a hand through his hair. It couldn't possibly be morning already. The sunlight that slipped through the gaps in his hotel room curtains told a different story, but he preferred his version of reality, in which he got to sleep a little longer. Just a few more days of this, he told himself -- and then it would be off to the next location. James sighed. This was exactly what he'd signed up for, but good lord, it was tiring.

He paused by the desk to check the to-do list he'd made the night before. Ah yes. Penultimate day on the Meccano bridge. Only two more days of this. Got it. The distinctive sound of a shower being turned on told him that his partner in crime, Sim Oakley, was awake and getting ready for the day.

James snickered slightly at the thought of Sim beginning his day in the shower. What was the point? The man managed to get completely covered in grime any time he even looked at power tools. Amusing himself with the mental image of dirt and grease leaping onto Sim's clothes by magnetic force from ten meters away, he made his way to the shower and turned it on as hot as it would go. Which, in this hotel wasn't that hot. He heard three raps against the wall his shower shared with the next hotel room over, followed by a slight pause, and one more rap. It was the same pattern with which Sim knocked when they met at James' home to work on planning. With a grin, James returned the greeting.

This Meccano programme had been a brilliant idea, he decided as he lathered up. He'd been sort of freaking out about it for the past few weeks, but part of the problem had been that he had not sought advice from the actual project manager or bridge design firm that were supposed to be there to help -- a problem which had come up with the Airfix and Plasticine projects as well. Sim had done an admirable job of wrangling the different groups involved in the bridge project, in spite of being hindered by material supply issues and James' own choice to forge ahead without final design approval, among other… client-related issues, James decided to call it.

James had, in typical fashion, forced himself to make amends and learn from the experiences. He and Sim had had a long chat on the topic one night about a week ago, as they worked on the bridge in relative solitude after the students (and cameras) had left for the night. James blew out a frustrated sigh at the memory. While he was never one to shy away from a well-deserved apology, his prideful bit hated doing it. Acknowledging his shortcomings felt too much like Catholic confession for James' Protestant roots.

Repenting of his failings face to face with someone he was attracted to only made it a thousand times worse. Those eyes, shifting from the seriousness of an active listener, to the flashing irritation of someone whose frustrations were finally acknowledged, to compassion and appreciation for James' words, and finally settling on friendly respect… James couldn't help but see affection in Sim's eyes, affection that of course wasn't really there. He couldn't help but see it in Sim's stance, head tilted forward and to the side as he both listened and assembled bridge pieces with those nimble fingers that James found himself so fascinated by. Serious, somewhat emotionally-charged conversations were all right with one's significant other, but he never wanted to engage that deeply, ever again, with Sim. It just confused his heart too much.

However, James couldn't deny the benefits of the discussion. Afterwards, Sim had begun to volunteer more information and ideas, to be more present on filming days and take more of a partnership role with James, something that pleased James greatly both on a professional level and… no, he refused to acknowledge the other thing. On a professional level. It made the project more about teamwork, as did bringing in two separate groups to design and build the bridge. This was going to make a good programme, he could tell. If he were more like Jeremy Clarkson, this would be the proper time to break out the smug face at a great idea enacted well. And clearing the air with Sim made it easier to coax the younger man into going with him to ask the council to delay the bridge unveiling by one extra week. Once they got that handled, the project finally started to flow like James had intended. It was still chaotic and they were still pressed for time, but in a good way.

The entire series was shifting into its hectic final month (if everything could be wrestled back on schedule, anyway). The building and filming for several episodes were coming to completion rapid-fire as he and Sim, along with the film crew, hopped around the country to do the final planning and execution of each one. Just a few more weeks and the whole series of Toy Stories (the lawyers approved his title!) would go to post-production. He and Sim had enjoyed building the Airfix model, and doing a Plasticine garden earlier in the spring, followed by a break so he could present series 13 of Top Gear while he and Sim met on weekends to continue planning the upcoming projects.

The Airfix thing might have been a tad ambitious, granted. It would have gone better if it had been able to benefit from the lessons he learned, well, from the Airfix thing. Which would only have condemned a different project to those early growing pains, but still. He'd spent an unholy number of Sim's billable hours teaching schoolchildren how to use toys which they had clearly neither ever seen nor developed the patience for. James smiled as he thought back to that. He probably wasn't going to get out of this without his production company showing a loss on the accounting, but it was worth it just for the opportunity to share these vital learning experiences with the nation. He'd enjoyed working with the kids, in spite of the difficulties. But Sim had proved himself valuable beyond measure, sliding easily into a mentoring role where James struggled to communicate effectively with the children. James thought back to the way Sim had breezed from one table to the next, his genuine smile lighting up the room as he answered questions and demonstrated building strategies that worked for the youngsters.

And the kids seemed to connect well with the shaggy-haired, younger project manager who used their slang with ease as he carefully kept himself well behind the cameras that followed James around. Particularly the girls seemed to connect with him, James noted with a blend of distaste and amusement. They may not play the same way or develop the same skills that he had, in his youth, but some things never change about those awkward, turbulent years. Not only had Sim been a great choice of project manager to partner with James, he was also a wonderful choice to work alongside the public who were both the recipient of James' effort to influence, and a ready source of free labour, although James halfway suspected people were showing up in case Richard Hammond made an appearance.

James' mind wandered back to one of those early planning days when Sim had expressed concern about whether they could successfully engage schoolchildren in building a life-size Airfix model, or find people willing to design a Meccano bridge, for free. It was one of those pivotal moments, a conversation that matters to you so much that you remember for a long, long time. "Simmy," he'd said sharply in frustration, adding the -y sound to his name mostly to irritate his colleague into giving James his undivided attention, "I didn't learn any of this in school, like you did. I wasn't a good student; I didn't connect with the material and nobody cared to resolve that. This is how I learned engineering, physics, calculus… through toys. School was a completely miserable experience for me, and if it hadn't been, if somebody had connected with me and influenced me, perhaps I could have been so much more than a journalist. If I can inspire one person, just one who then doesn't struggle like I did…"

James remembered how silent the room had fallen, at the rant that even James hadn't known was festering in his mind until it spilt out. Their producer, Sim's research assistant, and a couple of the camera guys had been there, involved in the discussion about how to best capture the classroom time and other prep work that would go into the Airfix project, and the room had gone dead quiet, all eyes on James. Sim had, as if nothing remotely awkward was unfolding, reached across the table and rested his hand on top of James', giving him an indulgent smile. "You are _much_ more than a journalist, James," he'd said. "And you're right. I have no idea if this is going to work, but we've got the approval and the budget, so let's go ahead and see who we inspire. Maybe someone will follow in your footsteps." He'd already broken the moment, hunching over to rummage in the ever-present bag of engineering notebooks that lay on the floor by his chair when he said, "but if I ever hear anyone, other than James, ever call me Simmy, there will be unpleasantness."

And so James had earned the right to call Sim by a nickname that belonged to nobody else. The mere thought made James' insides turn this way and that, even now. He remembered how he'd filed that moment away as just a treasured little one-off, until they were working on the Plasticine garden several weeks later, and he'd changed up the garden plan at the last minute in response to information learned by observing other gardens. Sim had, for possibly the first time, consented to speak to camera -- to grouse about how yes, James was right, but it was rather last-minute for such a big change. He knew he was irritating the garden team, and he felt bad enough without Sim making it painfully evident that he was irritating them. Especially since he knew he was irritating Sim most of all.

Unlike the stereotypical manager who gives orders from above, Sim managed from the front, leading the charge, absorbing the brunt of the obstacles they encountered, and pushing himself harder than he asked of anyone else. His leadership style was evident in even the recording, in how inanimate and exhausted he looked in front of the camera. And then it had started sodding raining. Which made James feel worse, and yet better because Sim, frankly, looked smokin' hot when wet. Which made James feel worse all over again.

"Really, Simmy?" he'd complained without malice after the younger man had recorded the bit, and they'd settled on hands and knees to replant and essentially re-plan the entire garden.

"I wondered if you'd actually start calling me that," Sim had said with a grin that spoke of strong approval for the silly nickname. Because that didn't make James' whole… situation a thousand times more awkward. And he'd said this with his hair plastered down in the rain, wearing a ridiculous high-vis vest over his waterproof windbreaker, splashing around in puddles partly because he was as wet as he could get anyway and partly because Sim had absolutely no trouble tapping into his childlike sense of wonder. And it was a beautiful thing. Oh, cock.

Realising he'd gone so far down memory lane that he'd probably killed a good fifteen minutes without so much as grabbing the soap, James jerked himself back to reality, back to the shower in his Liverpool hotel room. He noticed that his hand had crept down and begun stroking himself as he'd wandered through his thoughts about the few months he'd gotten to spend with the inspirational engineer, courtesy of work. Horrified, he yanked his hand away, glancing around as if the walls had suddenly gone transparent, as if his thoughts had gone transparent, and everybody in the world knew he was having a wank over thoughts of Simeon Oakley.

After several minutes of trying to catch his breath and will himself to a calmer state, he guiltily gave in. He couldn't work while nursing a semi, not today, not with the camera angles they'd be using. Maybe if he just got it over with, tried not to think about Sim as he did it, tried not to think of those sweet eyes and the genuine, sincere person behind them, the person who had not just accepted his crazy but embraced it and helped him translate it into something the public could understand, with his unkempt shock of dark hair and that wonderfully authentic smile, and the long, agile fingers that could solve just about any -- James sighed as he realised he'd just come, thinking about Sim's hands. His hands! He hadn't even gotten around to fantasising about… James chuckled at himself. God, what a ludicrous infatuation. He could hardly wait for it to wear off. Shouldn't be too much longer, he reasoned. His attraction to Richard Hammond had fizzled after just about this many months before it wore off and gave way to lifelong friendship, as well.


	4. Chapter 4

(FYI I posted this from my phone on a train with truly abominable shock absorption, so if there's anything wrong, didn't paste correctly, whatever, let me know.)

James wandered to the lobby for a piece of toast and maybe a banana for later, where he ran into Sim -- and most of the crew, really -- doing the same thing. Usually the crew was pretty quiet in the mornings, preferring to digest first, then interact. Today, however, Sim sidled up next to James, toast in one hand and paper cup of tea in the other. "I had a lovely chat with the students yesterday while you were filming with the design firm," he said, just loud enough for James to hear.  
   
Oh, cock. He wasn't sure what, but James could sense something coming right at him, like one of those movie scenes where the character is trapped in an enclosed space and starts to hear the ominous sound of rushing water coming from… somewhere. "Oh?" he asked.  
   
"Why didn't you tell me you're afraid of heights?" Sim asked. James' shoulders sagged, and he shot his colleague a confused look.  
   
"I-- I told everyone in that first meeting with all the students, when we were in the early stages of the build," he answered.  
   
"I got caught in traffic that day, James," Sim reminded him. "I missed quite a bit of the beginning."  
   
"It's not a secret; it's been featured on Top Gear."  
   
Sim fumbled his toast briefly, stuttering over his words as he worked to regain control of his breakfast. "I'm more of a recent fan of that programme, and I don't think it was mentioned in series thirteen."  
   
James chuckled. His shaggy project manager had only become a follower of his other shows after they'd begun working together. He wasn't surprised; Sim was into building and creating, and what he could make physics do for him, more than he was into high-priced cars and watching three middle-aged men fall over and make fun of themselves. He was, however, surprised by the expression of personal interest demonstrated by his choice to check out James' other work. "Well, I appreciate the support," James answered, "but, well… there you have it. I'm afraid of heights. I get vertigo. A psychologist once -- not my psychologist, mind you, I don't have one, it was just one I happened to meet at a party -- once told me that it's actually a fear of death that drives it, because without medical care and modern society, humans tend to die of broken bones and head injuries and so on."  
   
"While it is rather interesting and helpful to understand the origins of your fear, you should have volunteered this information at the start, James. I would have done things differently with that information. We could have -- we still could design an opaque surface, so you at least don't have to see the gaps around your feet." Sim paused to take a bite of toast, getting that look on his face again, that he always got when he was inventing something in his head.  
   
"Something incredibly thin and incredibly cheap?" James asked. "We're low on budget, and I don't like the idea of it being… no, I don't want something that people can see. I want it to be Meccano, plain and pure."  
   
"And the water tanks, and the reinforcements required by health and safety, and the motorised bit for the swinging bridge section," Sim added with a pointed yet understanding look. "I will do the project as you request it, but James, there's no shame in needing a bit of floor laid over it. It's not a fear of pencil sharpeners or something weird; lots of people have a phobia about heights for what still are very good reasons." The pair laughed quietly together at the notion of a fear of pencil sharpeners, although privately, James had little doubt that somebody, somewhere, was probably phobic about them. Humanity was just too interesting, too unique, for that person not to exist.  
   
"According to the students' wagering, the most likely scenario is that I fall in and drown anyway," James grumbled. "Have you seen they're betting on this? And I've counted up the marks and there's one more than there are students, so clearly they have a cheater amongst --" James stopped when he noticed Sim shaking with quiet laughter. "What?"  
   
"I felt obligated to bet on the bridge getting stolen, since I suggested they add it," Sim answered, provoking James to roll his eyes with a good-natured yet annoyed smile. "Are you sure I can't talk you into letting me do something to improve your comfort level with the crossing?"  
   
"I'll be all right," James reassured his friend. "I've done a great many other things in spite of it. It's just another chance to remind myself that I can control it, even if I never overcome it."  
   
Sim smiled. "If you decide you need help controlling it, I have a couple ideas, and I know where I can get materials quickly. I just need about two hours' lead time to get it done."  
   
James thanked his colleague politely, and then mulled over the offer for most of the day. Early on, it annoyed him that Sim had given him one more thing to have to think about, especially since it came back to the front of his mind every time he saw Sim, which on this day was quite a lot. Every time James found himself speaking to his project leaders, or even just recording bits for the show, there was Sim just beyond the camera's range, listening to every word, double checking every step of work, being thorough to the point that it would have been irritating if James weren't already concerned about putting his life in the hands of a pack of students who were betting on him breaking his neck. Later, when the bridge was damaged during installation, he was glad Sim had asked him about phobia-resistant flooring, just to have an unrelated thought to contemplate. The added thought process consumed space that he would have otherwise used to fret over the situation as he dove in to make repairs.  
   
As they worked, it became clear that the bridge repair situation, while neither unrecoverable nor particularly expensive, would require working into the evening. Payroll, on the other hand, is expensive, and even if James hadn't been acutely aware of dwindling project funds, the simple fact that they were near the end of Toy Stories indicated that they were also near the end of the money. James quickly gathered his director, an assistant whose head for solutions had proven invaluable in the past, and Sim, to discuss the problem of having anybody working into the night -- namely, the cost of overtime as compared to the remaining budget available for Toy Stories.  
   
"We can pay the students in coffee and sandwiches," Charlie the assistant suggested. "We don't need the bridge company here overnight; Sim is more than qualified for this type of work and we can afford his overtime." Everyone in the meeting turned to look at Sim. James worked hard not to wince at the thought of leaving his friend on site while he went back to the relative luxury of his hotel room.  
   
"You can't stay; stop considering it," Sim said, pointing at James. Damn. Must not have done a very good job concealing his reaction to Charlie's suggestion. "It's risky enough putting someone who gets vertigo on that bridge, without you being exhausted. Charlie, I don't mind overtime hours, but we'll need a crane operator on site as well, and I drink tea, not coffee." James surveyed the scene one more time, hoping for an idea to pop up out of nowhere, but none did. He had no choice but to let his project manager manage the project. He glanced at Sim once more, prepared to ask if he was sure, but the younger man's smiling nod ended that question before the words even formed.  
   
James redirected his attention to his producer. "Order dinner for the students, and let's be sure we get enough caffeine and… crisps, or something, to last them however many hours Atkins estimate repairs will take. Sim's joining me for dinner, though. If he's going to spend the night overseeing a pack of overtired university kids, he at least deserves a respectable dinner break, somewhere with nice seating and decent beer."  
   
"Won't argue with that," the project manager muttered, his expression an odd blend of serious and pleased.  
   
After double-checking the food order to ensure the students were well-fed, James and Sim slipped off to a restaurant nearby for dinner of their own. Somehow it felt more awkward than it had every other time they'd done it throughout the Toy Stories project. Perhaps it was because this time it was not a matter of convenience as they were often the last two to leave a work site, or the only two who wanted to comb through engineering notebooks over a pint, but because James felt he owed Sim a gesture of thanks. That was it, James decided. His awkwardness had nothing to do with the fact that the nicer restaurant choice made it feel strangely like a date.  
   
James shoved his thoughts aside and enjoyed the time together, combing through the plans and trading good-natured barbs as they wolfed down a decent steak dinner. Sim carefully only enjoyed one beer, reasoning that he needed to be sharp-witted to supervise his student team. James had talked him into sharing an ice cream, an indulgence that neither of them needed but James talked Sim into it by pointing out that he might need the extra calories for fuel. James had only considered the fact that neither of them needed four scoops of the stuff, when he suggested sharing, but when it arrived in a single dish with two spoons, that awkward, uncomfortable sense came over him all over again. Because sharing food was slightly dubious in terms of being sanitary, of course. Still not because it felt sort of like a date.  
   
His awkwardness was banished when Sim efficiently separated the frozen treat into halves and started in on his side as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Efficient and unpretentious, rather like James. This was a friend worth hanging onto for the long haul. Somehow that made James feel even worse about all the other thoughts he'd been having, which was also weird because none of the other thoughts had anything to do with his friendship with the inspiring project manager. Who doesn't experience the occasional random flash of lust at the sight of an attractive person, after all?  
   
Although he was starting to get the nagging feeling that he was making more excuses for those random flashes of lust, than he ever had before, when he found himself in this situation….  
   
James made quick work of returning Sim to the job site, wishing the students luck and leaving Sim to wrangle the crew that, last he'd seen, was sprawled on the pavement laying out their game plan and working their way steadily through the crisp packets.  
   
James sighed as he returned to his hotel room. After a moment, he decided on a brief shower before bed. He sort of wanted to be clean when he went to bed, but mostly it was in the hopes that he could wash his chaotic thoughts down the drain. Tomorrow would bring the final day with the bridge, and then they would leave some residual crew to clean it up and his apparently-fragile sanity would get a small break from Sim while he worked on the Hornby train project and Sim would break off to complete an unrelated project that he'd committed to before James had hired him. They'd meet up again in about a week and a half to film the Scalextric project, a task which Sim had spent a surprising amount of time on. He'd spent a lot of time on most of the projects, honestly, and James halfway wondered if he wasn't putting in more hours than his invoices showed.  
   
Finding his way into bed, James decided he was especially looking forward to the Scalextric project… and by "especially" he meant that his reason for loving Scalextric was unmet by the other toys he'd chosen for Toy Stories. Which was true of each of them, he realised, as it finally settled in that he was actually looking forward to this last day of filming for the bridge, as well.


	5. Chapter 5

The alarm jolted James awake again, just as rudely as the day before. He wasn't even aware of having slept, other than he felt less achy now than he had when he'd crawled into bed. Like every other day at this location, he swatted at his alarm, then stumbled to the shower even though he probably wasn't dirty, just for the sake of his morning wake-up routine.  
   
No water was running in Sim's bathroom, which was odd since the younger man got up just a few minutes earlier, typically. James reached towards the shower faucet, then paused. No, something didn't feel right. He backed out of the bathroom and reached for his phone. When he went to text Sim, he saw that he'd received a text in the night, and slept through its alert. James sighed at the message. At four o'clock in the morning, Sim had informed him that repairs were almost complete, that he would nap in his work van rather than waste time driving to the hotel, and to please bring some toast in the morning. James quickly fired off a text to production assistant Charlie to hurry down to the site and get food sorted for anyone who needed. A sudden, tremendous thumping upstairs told him that Charlie had gotten the text and shifted himself into top gear to get the job done. With a smile, James informed Sim that all breakfast orders should be sent to Charlie.  
   
In the shower, James noticed that he rather missed the customary "good morning" knock from his colleague. He wondered idly if Sim had ever worked on a project like this, on location, spending almost every waking minute with coworkers. This rather offbeat project manager with the oddly magnetic personality didn't seem to have any concept of how to do it, at least not how James was used to doing it, politely ignoring his colleagues until such time as they had to work together. On Top Gear, this was a survival strategy. Top Gear reminded James of going on vacation as a child -- too much togetherness could put even the closest of siblings at one another's throats. It was the same with Clarkson and Hammond; all the professional respect and personal affection in the world didn't stop them getting fed up with one another after a week or so in an unfamiliar environment.  
   
Sim seemed impervious to that, however. He didn't get at odds with anybody, even under severe stress. At least, as far as James knew, Sim didn't have that irritability problem. He certainly hadn't worn on James' nerves as did other colleagues… friends… relatives… and again, James found himself kicking off the day with the same weird mushy sentiment. He blew out a frustrated sigh. Obviously, the random infatuation was out of control because he was stressed out and doing anything to avoid thinking about the bridge crossing. Once the anxiety was gone, or perhaps even properly controlled, that would solve his problem.  
   
Working on autopilot as a way of managing his nerves, James showered, dressed, and migrated through his day, sticking to just tea for breakfast today in case the expected vertigo on the bridge upset his stomach. He worked at the site, doing things that others could and should have been doing for him, just to keep himself busy to help forget what was coming -- and it more or less worked, as the moment of truth came a lot faster than he thought.  
   
James allowed somebody - he wasn't even sure who, just somebody who walked up and started giving commands - to put him into the harness that would be hooked to a crane, a safety step that he hadn't expected. It was planned just the day prior, when somebody had informed Sim that the canal wasn't deep enough to protect James in the event of a fall, and this was what Sim had come up with on short notice, with the resources available. James grumbled about it, then felt bad when it occurred to him that Sim had probably lost half his morning hunting down an appropriate harness, just for his sake. Granted, it was the man's job, but still.  
   
Sim came over once he was hooked up, exuding mindfulness blended with his usual quiet confidence as he played with the connections and ensured that everything was to his standard. Amused by this, James allowed him to do as he wished, wondering all the while if he thought maybe he was making James feel more confident by reviewing the safety system so thoroughly. When given the signal, James stepped up onto the bridge. His eyes immediately, as if by habit, cast around looking for a familiar face upon which to focus. Motion near the proper bridge caught his eye, and glancing over to it, he saw his project manager moving from his side of the canal to the destination side, all the while watching him with that intensely focused gaze that communicated expertise, watchfulness, and a sense of foresight. James' stomach flipped, and for once, it wasn't the vertigo.  
   
James refocused himself towards his destination, staring at the Liver bird because, well, it didn't make his stomach flip. He shuddered as he started to step out over open air and the bridge flexed slightly under his weight. He expected this; he'd had a walk across one of the segments, so today wouldn't be his first experience. It did help that he was familiar with the way it would look, feel, and even move somewhat under his shoes, but he still felt ill as he edged closer to the canal. Maybe he should have designated somebody else for this part, but it would make shit television and he knew it. It had to be James; there was no alternative.  
   
He paused to make the joke about preferring Manchester over Liverpool, which he'd scripted and right now he appreciated the moment it gave him to stand still and adjust to all the chaotic sensations. He reached for the first hand-grab point (why oh why hadn't he insisted on figuring out proper railings?) and saw a glint of metal fall from somewhere on the bridge, into the canal below. Bloody Nora, that was a long way down. "A bolt's just fallen off," he said, mostly because he knew that if it was a concern, somebody with some expertise would order him to stop. Nobody did, so he gingerly took another step. He wondered if the cameras could see how badly his hands were trembling, as he twitched one theatrically as a way to cover the nearly suffocating fear from his viewers.  
   
One careful step at a time, with Edwina, daughter of Liverpool giving him encouragement, he worked his way to the first, then the second hand-holds, irrationally fearful that as his weight shifted towards the far end, the whole contraption would tip and fall into the canal. Maybe it would hit him in the back of the head and kill him as he dangled from the harness on -- well, that imaginative moment certainly wasn't helpful. James shook his head and decided that focusing on Sim worked better for him after all, even if it did make him feel weird. He glanced to his left to sort of where Sim should be, based on how fast he knew Sim walked -- and couldn't find him. Confused, James paused for a second as his eyes drifted again over the crowd. Nothing.  
   
Then he caught sight of something moving at a pretty good clip, closer to the bridge. The flash of bare shin was all James had to see, to know who it was. Sim had broken into a jog and was quickly closing in on the platform of the swing bridge. Was something wrong? James' steps faltered for a moment, as he made a particularly hesitant reach for the next hand-hold. He relaxed almost visibly when he saw Sim slow to a purposeful walk and then step onto the platform that was the pivot point of the bridge's swing mechanism. Hands on hips, he positioned himself as directly in James' line of sight as possible. James pictured his own tension dripping from his pores into the canal below.

He could tell by the encouraging yet watchful expression that Sim was standing there solely for James' benefit, perhaps thinking it would make him feel safer to know that Sim was right there watching over everything as he edged out over the canal on this precarious-feeling yet well-built toy bridge. James wanted to roll his eyes at the motivations he'd ascribed to Sim's unexpected actions, but… it really did make him feel better. Setting that aside for later -- or never, preferably -- he focused his gaze on Sim and continued working his way toward the end of the first bridge segment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, I've got a heavy workload until mid-December. I'm making a big push to graduate this term and move on to my next school and next degree, instead of having one annoying stray class to take next term. Even though this story is finished on my computer, it's taking a lot more time than I thought it would, to make those last few tweaks before releasing a chapter. Did not know I was going to be this busy or I'd have waited until winter break to start posting!

Relief at having reached the end of the first bridge segment turned to irrational fright again as he had to stand and wait for the swinging component to get to him. It was taking a moment longer than expected, mostly because while they'd planned for the students to operate the components, Sim had apparently at the last minute nudged a student aside to take over himself. Again, his active presence made James feel calmer than he felt he had any right to be. The mere thought of stepping across was like preparing to jump on invisible platforms in a video game, except scarier because he had no idea what would actually happen if he fell. And when the swing bridge component arrived, actually stepping to the next segment proved even worse, as the two surfaces bounced at different frequencies, making him feel as though he might slip at any moment. Through it all, though, Sim's gaze remained focused and attentive, yet relaxed and without any trace of concern. Clearly, the situation was far more safe and controlled than James felt. He only had to trust Sim, to get through it. With a deep breath and a few more slightly unmanly vocalisations, James drew up his nerve and pressed onward.

Once the swinging component of the bridge had swung him over above dry land, James realised they probably should have put hand-holds on this part as well, as he now had to walk across the trembling toy as if he were trying to perform on a balance beam while blind drunk. And he wasn't that great with balance, not in this sort of situation, really. Focused on his footing, he took small steps and worked his way off the bridge, swearing in his mind to never volunteer for anything like this again. Then he looked up at where Edwina was standing, and saw Sim standing nearby, having abandoned the bridge motor once its job was done, and again positioned himself directly in James' line of sight. The grin on his face spoke of pride and just a touch of Clarkson's smugness at a job well done. He knew exactly the effect his presence had on James, and had used it to stack the deck in the elder man's favour. Oh, cock.

For the briefest instant as he finished taking those last few steps, James had the urge to hug the project manager who'd had his back throughout the hair-raising experience. Instead, he allowed Edwina to hug him, then shifted into professional Leader Mode, putting his student engineers on camera and making them look good, while Sim gracefully faded into the background and allowed the students to bask in the glory of what would surely become the first major accomplishment in their portfolios. Sim had a habit of doing that, James noticed, working so hard on a project and then avoiding the cameras so nobody got to see the man behind the brilliance. That might have to change, he decided… maybe during the upcoming Scalextric project, he could exercise his control over the filming and flat-out insist on Sim being more visible. The man deserved acknowledgement for his work, after all.

Once James got back to the hotel, intent on spending the entire 13 hours between then and his departure time lounging in bed, he began to process the day. Shaking off the stress, he contemplated each piece of the experience, each memory, one by one as he sorted through it all. Through this process, he walked his anxiety back to a more reasonable level. He encouraged himself to think more objectively about the safety harness, which had annoyed him greatly throughout the ordeal but in retrospect, he was glad it had been there. He pondered the students, wondering if he had encouraged them sufficiently, and effectively provided them with an opportunity to showcase their budding capabilities to those who would someday employ them. He wondered what he could do to get Sim out from behind the camera more often… how he could show the nation the kind of skill and attention to detail that this man had to offer. He allowed his thoughts to meander down that rabbit trail for a bit, considering how safe the younger man's watchful gaze had made him feel, and how obviously Sim knew this and used it for James' benefit.

Wait… wait. Sim knew that he made James feel safe. He knew. The thought had occurred to James earlier, but now that he wasn't busy with his presenter duties, he had the luxury of time to consider it properly. Sim hadn't even avoided the cameras today. Instead of always standing a short distance away, always placing himself behind the people to whom James was speaking, he had placed himself right where James was pretty sure he'd been basically in the middle of the shot, multiple times. His odd disinterest in being in the middle of all the action had given way to a choice to place himself in James' line of sight at every turn -- when he started the journey and fearful anticipation gave way to just plain fear, when he had to cross to the second portion and the motorized swing bridge shook his nerves and his body… and even as James was walking along and stepping off the swing bridge, he'd been right there, stepping forward from the back of the platform to the railing at the front. He had moved the student whose job it was to run the motor. He knew. He knew his presence was comforting. He had to know. But… the rest? Did he know why he made James feel safe? Did he understand in the slightest, how he'd come to possess that power? Had James shown his hand somehow?

Oh, cock.

A sense of foreboding descended upon the room. James imagined that even the lighting dimmed in response to the vague sense of doom building. If Sim figured out that James had a bit of a thing for him, thought he was… cute, or whatever the kids call it these days… well, he could always move to some little country in the middle of nowhere and open a shoe store, James thought, reminding himself of the goofy things he liked to joke would be his only recourse if he ever did something that made him look incredibly stupid on television… besides the stupid things he did for Top Gear, anyway.

James shook his head with a chuckle. No. Sim didn't know that detail. He was careful to never stare too long, even when Sim couldn't see him. He was careful to include others in conversations whenever they weren't alone, to ensure that Sim felt like he was just being a sociable and approachable employer. He even took the precaution of never tucking his shirt in, just in case, although really, if Sim were staring at his trousers enough to notice a semi here and there, then that was really more Sim's problem than his!

James blew out a frustrated sigh. Some time apart would do him good, and maybe the togetherness of the Scalextric project would finally be the thing to make his infatuation wear off. Maybe they just needed one good difference of opinion for James to see past his own silliness. Yes, he decided… that would help greatly. James yawned, shoving the thoughts out of his mind so he could catch up on sleep before launching into the train project. He'd called in Oz Clarke to help with it, and he would need plenty of energy to cope with that man, after all.

To his complete and utter un-surprise, a moment later, there was a familiar knock at the door. He could pretend he wasn't in. He could pretend to be asleep.

James was standing face to face with Sim before he even noticed that he must have gotten up and answered the door. He'd expected to be invited out, but instead, the younger man held up two bags, one held rather precariously along with the engineering notebook carefully threaded between his fingers. "Curry and beer, and maybe some planning?" James gave a tired smile and stepped back, letting the younger man in. He was done with work for the day. Maybe he was done thinking about work for the entire week, even. Sharing dinner and poring over Sim's notebooks, though, wasn't work.

Oh, cock. This enamoured lark was really getting out of control. Clearly, he needed to find himself a dating partner so he could set it aside. Just as soon as filming was done. And the next series of Top Gear. And that other show idea that was starting to form in the recesses of his mind, in the quiet moments during script discussions with a couple of his producers. James rolled his eyes at himself. Or maybe he could just be a man about it and get over it without needing to replace one silly infatuation with another. Surely in the years he'd been working with Clarkson and Hammond, he hadn't completely fled the forward march of evolution, and forgotten how to be a man… a man… a show where the point is re-discovering what it is to be a man, celebrating the skills, talents, and maybe even foibles that were starting to get lost among the… whatever… of modern culture. James' eyes, which had been staring unseeing at the notebook, suddenly jerked up to meet Sim's thoughtful gaze.

"Yes..?" Sim asked. "I get the impression I don't quite have your attention, James."

"Just an idea for another project I've been working on," James assured his dinner companion. "Let me write it down so I can set it aside, and I'll be right with you." Sim nodded, turning his focus to his dinner, occasionally sketching something out, or working a quick bit of arithmetic in the margin. James quickly scrawled in his own notebook of random ideas, a phrase he wanted to share with his producer, and see if it caught his imagination the way it had caught James', a few bullet points, some episode theme ideas, and one phrase that caught his interest so much he found himself tracing over it three or four more times: Man Lab.

The thoughts recorded so he could release them from his mind without worry about recapturing them later, James turned his focus fully back to Sim's notebook and the Scalextric project upon which they would soon embark.


	7. Chapter 7

James threw himself down on his bed in his newest hotel, near the Brooklands track, and breathed out a frustrated sigh. The entire train project had been wall to wall frustration. When he wasn't dealing with yobbos stealing his materials and shorting out his track for the amusement value, he was desperately wishing he could interrupt Sim's work for some telephone tech support to solve said yobbo-related problems. He'd genuinely missed his project manager, and not just for the eye candy. He'd come to enjoy late dinners with his offbeat friend, both hunched over a notebook in a badly-lit hotel restaurant trying to work out the latest in a never-ending series of last-minute problems and changes. What would perhaps frustrate another person into quitting, they both thrived upon. Solving problems under pressure was the whole point, the fun part where their creativity got the best chance to shine.

But doing this stuff without Sim, with a different project manager… no, just no. Those problems and frustrations weren't fun, and the solutions to them weren't all… brilliantly and ambitiously idiotic. The whole project turned into a slog without Sim, and each hassle was just irritating. Besides, Sim had better taste in beer than most everyone else he'd ever worked with.

James wondered when Sim would get in. He'd stepped away to complete an unrelated project for which he'd been engaged, before James hired him for Toy Stories. James had wanted to work around his schedule, but due to filming demands, it just wasn't an option, so he'd had to use other people for the train and Lego projects. The train had turned into a brutal slog, and the Lego house was running so far behind that Sim had spent one of his weekends off from the unrelated project volunteering at the Lego build, which is to say he was spying on the leadership and providing James with suggestions for how to guide the project back on schedule. Wisely, he hadn't told James beforehand that he planned to do this, since James was fairly certain that it might run slightly too close to violating ethics rules, to allow a paid employee to volunteer on the project, even on a part of the project that he wasn't being paid to work on.

They were due to start recording the Scalextric project tomorrow, mostly just scene-setting stuff, recreating the spring day in which they'd walked around this area planning this project out, stuff like that. They'd planned a lot of testing with Scalextric track, which admittedly probably should have occurred before now, but now was when they had time. He was looking forward to spending a week sequestered with Sim, experimenting and… and playing, really, to discover what they could do with the toys. It was what toys existed for, to allow children to discover new things about their world -- even children well over age forty, obviously. This was also a project during which Sim would be put on camera in rather a big way, introduced to the audience as the project manager, participating in the filming work as if they were a team, rather than employer and employee.

He hadn't told Sim that part, yet, and he had no idea how that was going to go over.

James gave that some thought, how to broach the subject, before just giving up. His mind was too tired from the wall-to-wall frustration that had been the train project. He would just have to trust that Sim's dislike of camera work was outweighed by his eagerness to please. James smiled as he thought back on the last time he saw Sim, in Liverpool, that encouraging smile guiding him across the bridge that had scared him half to death. He'd had people, in the past, scoff at him and chide him for failing to be a man and just get over it. Sim had accepted James' description of it as a phobia, and treated it with respect as a piece of James' personhood, the way he'd seen Sim treat volunteers with disabilities by helping them find ways to contribute without tripping over their limitations.

A familiar knocking pattern on his door jolted him out of his thoughts, and James was up and at the door in a matter of seconds.

"Dinner and plan review?" Sim asked with a grin as he held up his ever-present engineering notebook. James didn't even answer, simply grabbing his shoes and walking out into the hall.

\---

"How was the Lego build looking, honestly?" James asked as soon as the beer hit the table. Sim groaned in reply, head in hands.

"There is no way to get it back on schedule," he answered, "not even if you implement all of the suggestions I made, and I got the impression that your project management would be, er, resistant. They're short quite a lot of bricks for the design and they've got some new plans, but I think they're still going to be short. You might need to ship more bricks up there. But it's not hopeless; you can get it worked out. I'll help sort out the scheduling and we can make some calls tomorrow night."

"We're short bricks? What, were people stealing them??" James asked, then shook his head. "All right. Thank you for going up there and monitoring that. And for not telling me ahead of time, so I didn't have to think about the ramifications of allowing you to do it."

"Sorry I couldn't work on that project," Sim answered, "or the train one. I really wish I could have, not that I really think enough my presence would have made a difference."

James shook his head. "Your previous contract had to be honoured. And the train failed due to vandals. There was probably nothing you could have done; nobody foresaw that problem. I appreciate all you've done on this entire project, Simmy, thank you."

"You're welcome," Sim answered. James rolled his eyes at himself for going all sentimental, although truth be told, this entire project had been sentimental for him. It was just the nature of the beast, delving into his personal history and figuring out how to show it to the nation in a way that people could appreciate.

"How did the other project go?" James asked, suddenly realising that he hadn't heard anything about it.

"The store remodel?" Sim asked. "It… went. They hated the first design and thought the second one was too technically complicated, then approved the third and demanded a shedload of changes to make it more complicated than the second. I think I spent half the project trying to figure out how to contort myself to lie face-up and solder without holding anything dangerous directly overhead. But their merchandise shelving is done, the weight limit exceeds their requirements, and it's lit up bright enough to see it from space, so they're happy."

James smiled at that news. "I'm glad something went well these past couple weeks." Sim shrugged with an almost apologetic smile.

"I don't enjoy the high-end store projects," he confessed. "I don't know if you've noticed, James, but I'm a bit low-rent. It's not comfortable being in shops like that. And they're just going to dismantle all my work in six months when it inevitably goes out of fashion anyway. It feels more temporary than the temporary stuff I build, because… I don't know. It's just a lot of waste, of perfectly good materials. At least the stuff you and I use is mostly reused after, and mostly junk in the first place. And they don't need it; if your products are high quality and worth the price, people will buy them whether you put them on a well-lit shelf or not. Beer sells even when it's not high quality, and it's never well-lit." As if to demonstrate, Sim grabbed his pint, held it up briefly, and took a gulp. "No lighting at all, and still I happily paid five pounds for it." They fell into silence for a moment, then Sim smiled a little bit. "But yes, it did go well. I am proud of the task I accomplished."

James smiled in response, understanding Sim's odd blend of frustration and pride in a job well done. "So the water crossing materials came in," James said of the supplies they'd ordered for floating the Scalextric track across the pond. "The cheapest option for storage was to take a spare hotel room, so the whole lot of it is in 107. We can start testing and finalising plans tomorrow." He took a deep breath. Time to tell Sim what was in store. "I'd like to do most of the testing on camera, this time. It'll make good filler for the editing people, so they can make it look exciting in post-production in case the race goes badly."

There was quiet at the table as Sim picked thoughtfully at his baked fish. "That sounds like I might end up in front of the camera a lot more than usual," he observed.

James nodded. "I think it's the best way, artistically, to get the look I want."

"It would show the project as a team effort, in a different way than our usual," Sim responded insightfully. "And you're probably weary of being the central figure responsible for everything, after what had to be a very hard week in Barnstaple."

"I was going to leave that part out," James said with a wry chuckle.

Sim shook his head, then let out a deep sigh, that came with an indulgent smile. Talk about mixed messages. "I can't seem to say no to you, can I?" he mused. "All right. If you want me in front of the cameras, I'll do it." James grinned, relieved. "But you've got to choose my wardrobe because I have no idea what looks good on camera."

James rolled his eyes at that. "Just wear the nicest-looking shirt you've got tomorrow, as if we're meeting for the first time this project, and you're trying to look professional. After that, your usual uniform will be fine."

"Uniform?" Sim asked.

"Short sleeves over long sleeves, cargo shorts," James explained, then frowned. Was he supposed to know this much about what Sim wears to work? Was that weird? He shrugged. "I've been watching a lot of the footage we've got so far, sorting out how I want it to be after the edits. You're sort of predictable." There, that ought to be a sufficient cover, he hoped. The unbridled, purely animal attraction to Sim was finally, finally starting to ease after six months of working with the man. But it seemed to be fading in favour of a strange sort of best-friends closeness that James was fairly certain he'd never experienced even as a child, when one actually had best friends. And, he was horrified to acknowledge, it seemed to have come along with some other sort of attraction that was… he wasn't sure. More holistic and intellectual, perhaps, than animalistic and physical.

James glanced at the clock when he finally got to his room for the night. Not too late. He sighed and reached for his phone, well aware of the cost of what he was about to do.

"How's the house coming along?" came the unexpected greeting.

"Hello, Jezza," James replied wearily. "I'm not going to feed your need to profit from my impending doom by telling you how the Lego project is going. The train didn't go to plan, though, so if you bet against that one, you need to collect. But listen, I need some advice…" He frowned at the teasing chuckle that followed, and again at the uproarious laughter that came once he explained his perplexing crush-but-weirder situation. James nodded with a patient yet irritated smile, waiting for Clarkson to finish taking the piss out of him for developing a crush on a colleague, only barely listening to the admittedly-hilarious commentary as he laid out everything he'd need for the next day. Jeremy may be a trusted friend, but he was still a nine-year-old man, and would need a few minutes to walk this one off before he'd be useful.

"It usually fades by now, doesn't it?" Jeremy asked, having seen James go through this before. Of course, they all caught sight, now and then, of someone who struck their fancy, but James being the only Top Gear member who was single, he tended to get hit harder than his colleagues.

"You want me to send you a picture?" James asked in response.

Jeremy grunted. "No need; I've seen the photos on your phone. He's pretty good-looking, even I have to admit that. And from what you've said about him, he seems… you know, like the kind of person you could be with, with a minimal amount of tabloid pandemonium."

"A decent person," James filled in, offering a slightly less mercenary phrasing of Jeremy's PR-focused perspective.

"Decent, quietly confident, brilliant, creative, inspirational, just your all-around deified being on a pedestal," Jeremy added.

James cringed at that. "You've gotten all of that from what I've said?"

"You do talk about him a lot, mate," Jeremy replied. This, the gentle, understanding tone of a friend, entrusted with not just confidential information but with the right to weigh in on it, this was what James wished the world could see of Jeremy. Wouldn't be good for Top Gear ratings, he knew; people tuned in for Clarkson the Conceited, but oh, what they were missing out on. "James..?" Jeremy started, then paused with a sigh.

"Just say whatever it is you're thinking," James answered. "Andy will kill me if you explode from holding it in."

"Are you sure it's just a passing fad? You talk about him the way Hammond talks about Mindy." James sighed. He'd seen the question coming, predicted it from the moment he'd decided to share this problem with his friend.

"Yeah, it's got to be," he answered. Jeremy hummed at that, sounding as if he wasn't sure how to take the answer. Even James wasn't sure if he meant that it was obviously a short-term thing, or that he was desperately hoping in spite of all evidence.

"It'll pass, James," Jeremy said, sounding more confident than James thought he ought to. "You're just going mental because you're not getting enough sleep. It'll get better once Toy Stories is finished. And if it doesn't, we'll get the latest Ferrari and send you out on the track with it until it's ruined you for mere mortals." James chuckled, allowing the conversation to wind down naturally as he worked his way towards bedtime. Jeremy was right; exhaustion could make you think some weird things sometimes.


	8. Chapter 8

James' mobile phone hit the floor of his hotel room with a loud thump, the force of it enough to slide it halfway across the room along the plush, relatively low-friction carpet. It did nothing to silence the electronic beast. James got up with a grumble and chased the device, tapping ferociously at the screen until it fell silent. He was getting really sick of waking up like this, having fallen into bed so tired that the entire night seemed to pass in an all-too-short instant. Get more sleep, Jeremy had said. And just when in the day was he supposed to make time for that?

After glancing around in confusion, he spotted his notebook on the desk, glasses laying neatly atop its open pages, waiting for him. James slid his glasses on and took in the information. Tuesday. Brooklands track, Surrey. Scalextric. Today's tasks, check in with the Sony portion of his driving team, test the floating track section, then experiment with the track if time permitted. Breakfast in lobby, lunch pre-ordered, dinner on our own. Need extra clothes/shoes - pond filming. Transport provided by Sim, on own schedule.

James stifled a yawn as he tossed his glasses back onto the page. The notebook was one of the better strategies that Clarkson had shared with his colleagues, several years ago, and it had saved James on more than one occasion when he'd spent so many nights surrounded by the dreary uniformity of hotel rooms that he was no longer sure where he was or what he was doing. The combination orientating information and to-do list helped him focus as he worked his way through the early, foggy-minded bit of the day, and by the time he and his change of clothes were down in the lobby enjoying some halfway-decent tea, he felt prepared enough to grace the world with a rare before-ten-o'clock smile when Sim asked if he was ready to go.

Yesterday, they'd worked on the filming that would transition from the grand idea and history of the track to the planning and building phase. James had had to work hard to suppress a laugh when Sim had arrived at the remains of the track for filming. He'd said to put on a nice shirt, and Sim had followed his directions by wearing a long sleeved button-up shirt -- partially unbuttoned, with a blue tee visible under, unbuttoned cuffs dangling lifelessly over his hands, untucked shirttail hanging over worn jeans, the lowest inch or so of which he'd obviously walked off rather than having the ankle hems taken up properly. Which at least sort of coordinated with the worn-out, untied skater-style shoes that James was fairly certain had begun life as black and white, but they had taken on a definite dirt-coloured overtone by this stage in their lives. Sim had literally just pulled a proper shirt over his standard uniform. James made a mental note to be just a bit more specific if he ever again had cause to request that his colleague dress up. But, he had to admit, it perfectly expressed the younger man's temperament.

It had been fun to put Sim on camera, walking him along the original track, exploring the obstacles and watching the younger man's engineering mind start turning every time James presented him with a new challenge. They'd done this a few months ago, and Sim had laid out some great preliminary plans, but now it was time to do it for film, and of course they needed to double-check their planning work anyhow. James made a couple of historical racing references and Sim gave bemused responses, then apologised afterward only to be reassured that James actually did want to show the differences between James' sort of expertise and Sim's. His project manager had been obviously uncertain at first about how to handle the cameras, but he quickly forgot about them as the pair meandered about the track, discussing the plans for both the first time (on film) and the last (before starting to build).

Today, they would begin with separate tasks, Sim working on the pond crossing outside Sony while James went inside to film with the employees. He'd been more than a little surprised by them -- he'd told them that a little ineptitude was great, and would play well with the goal of introducing old toys to a younger generation such as themselves, but he wasn't prepared for the lack of problem-solving skills that lot displayed. It was blatantly obvious that, while these people could solve just about any problem that could be solved with the skillful application of a computer, they had no idea how to translate that into real-world stuff, like assembling the Scalextric track. Overwhelmed by the perplexing but spirited group of young-ish adults, he was relieved to return to Sim, where quiet organisation reigned supreme -- particularly at this time, since lunch had been delivered and he'd abandoned his work to sit on the pond bridge with his sandwich. James joined him, reveling in the peace and serenity of the setting. Sim had a knack for finding the best places for a lunchbreak. Granted, this one was just a bit obvious, but James wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been psst'ed from behind a tree, and led off to some magical fairy world for a lunchbreak.

"How scripted do you want the afternoon filming?" Sim asked, still a touch uncertain about how he fit into the overall plan now that his role had shifted slightly but yet monumentally.

"I'm flexible," James answered. "Did you have something in mind that you think will play better if we do it in a specific way?"

"There's a question I want you to ask," Sim explained. James nodded at him to go on. "I'd like you to ask me how we're going to get the track and its floating platform into the pond, or over the pond… however you think it best to word it. We worked up the response to it earlier, and the director likes it."

James hummed. "If it's a longer answer, and it sounds like it is, then that should be the last question I ask, so we can just do the answer and then go from there to the proof of concept demonstration. That'll work well, actually. How's the construction going overall?"

Sim grunted an acknowledgement, then finished his bite of sandwich. "Some issues early on. Had trouble finding a drill battery that was charged; I guess one of the outlets in my room wasn't working last night."

"We'll check on that, and perhaps charge some batteries in my room tonight," James responded, solving that issue.

Sim nodded. "Some of the materials I've got don't respond favourably to rain, and I'm a touch concerned about that, but--"

"The Scalextric track doesn't respond favourably to rain, either," James interrupted, and they both laughed.

"That's why I'm not overly worried. It bothers me that it's material that would be lost in the event of rain, but logically, once we're in that deep, it won't really be a big deal to lose a bit more."

"If we lose everything, nobody's going to care about a hundred pounds' worth of construction flotsam, Simmy. If it's the best strategy that fits within the budget, then let's use it." James shot his companion a brief, almost shy smile. Sim had evidently taken a break while working; a leaf was stuck to the back of his shirt and another was in his hair. James pondered the appropriateness of it for a moment before deciding to solve the problem himself, plucking the leaf off Sim's back and holding it up, watching confusion shift to amused understanding before he tossed it into the pond. Sim wasn't surprised when James followed that by peeling another leaf out of his hair, tugging slightly at the mass of tangled curls in the process.

Sim ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it out in a way that James heartily approved of. "I laid down to rest my back earlier, while I thought about how to join the platform sections. Was that all; did you get everything?" James gave his companion a critical look, pretending that he was searching for foliage rather than simply enjoying the view, then nodded when he was fairly sure he couldn't get away with staring for much longer. "Shall we get on to filming, then?" Sim asked right before he devoured the last bite of his lunch. James, having been a bit too distracted by his companion to notice he'd finished his lunch until just now, nodded his agreement and the pair made their way back to the work area. Maybe Sim would decide to lie back in the grass again, and he'd get another excuse to de-leaf the younger man. James snickered at himself for thinking it. This crush had gone on for so long that he was actually beginning to make his peace with the silly thoughts. Jeremy had been completely right; he had to get some flipping sleep, and soon.


	9. Chapter 9

"How are we actually going to get it into the pond?" James asked dutifully of the Scalextric track's floating platform, having reached the end of his list of questions intended to lead Sim through explaining his plan to the viewers. He could tell by the sparkle in Sim's eye that the response was going to be a good one, but he was really hoping it wasn't too long since kneeling on the ground was starting to make his knee ache.

"Umm…" the younger man said, stroking his chin and giving James a devious look. He held it as long as he could, for the cameras, then let himself fall back into the grass in gales of laughter at James' two-fingered response to the unspoken suggestion. The older man shot a frustrated smile at the entire crew, who apparently had all been in on the plan for this, but after a few moments of debate and irritable comments, James agreed to put on the "mostly waterproof" suit Sim had brought along for this task, and waded into the pond with the track grabbing tool Sim had welded out of random parts from his van.

James tried not to show how bothered he was to be standing in the cold, murky water that, at only knee-deep, was already too dark to see his own feet. If it had been anyone else, James probably wouldn't be concealing his concern under a veneer of confidence. If it had been anyone else, he admitted to himself, he wouldn't have even considered the suggestion in the first place. He'd have put an intern up to it, probably with some gently disparaging remarks about the quality of said intern. It would have made good telly, actually. He could have poked fun at the silly-looking suit in ways he couldn't when it was the show's presenter wearing the idiotic thing. Why hadn't he put an intern up to it? James glanced back to see how Sim was progressing with his job of sliding the floating track section out onto the pond for him, and was met with the glorious view of his colleague facing away from him, bent over to fiddle with a section of the pipe insulation they'd chosen to use for buoyancy.

… oh yeah. That's why James had agreed to this instead of sending an intern. Because he couldn't very well be expected to think clearly with Cupid's arrow lodged firmly in his trousers. James snickered at that. Not a bad phrase, that… maybe if he remembered it long enough to write it down, he could shoehorn it into a show someday. James rolled his eyes at himself and dragged his gaze away from the perfect arse that seemed to be begging for his hands to cup it and give it a good squeeze.

Sim watched the entire work site carefully as he fed the proof-of-concept segment of Scalextric track platform out to James. He had enough confidence after a quick hotel bathtub test of the product to go ahead and build the entire platform for the track, but his commitment to excellence demanded that he see it work before the big day. They presently lacked sufficient track to test properly with a car, as he'd forgotten to pack a spare box of Scalextric track and had to send his assistant back to the hotel to grab it. But he was sure Charlie would be back in just a minute.

The project manager's supervisory glances about the entire area hitched up when James was about thigh-deep in the water. Something about the way James was poking at the pond bottom ahead of him before taking each step didn't set right with Sim, and he abandoned the prep work to walk along the pond's edge, behind the cameras' view.

"James, you can swim, can't you?" he asked. It was such a basic life skill that Sim hadn't thought to ask. Of course James could swim; otherwise he wouldn't have suggested that falling off the Meccano bridge into the canal would be no big deal.

"Not very well, actually." The answer was enough to make Sim literally stumble, as his heart felt like it had stopped for a moment. He anxiously glanced around, evaluating flotation options available to him, if needed. He had a life jacket among his collection of random tools, but it was in his van, off to get the forgotten track. Where was Charlie? Sim sent a one-word text to his assistant: HURRY. By the modern-day miracle of good timing, he saw the van coast into view and then Charlie appeared, running the box of track over to Sim. He desperately wanted to stop filming long enough to talk James into abandoning this plan, but at this point he knew it would be faster and easier to get James safely to dry land by forging ahead and completing the pond tests.

"It floated away when I wasn't looking," James said of the track platform, which was now a good four or five feet beyond the reach of the pole he had with him.

"Well, you might have to try and hook it," Sim said. After all, it would only take a little bit of dog-paddling or treading water for James to ease himself out far enough to grab the track and then paddle back to shallower water.

"It's too deep." Sim's eyes went wide, at that. Somebody who doesn't swim very well can at least manage a child-like back float and maybe some kicking, to move the small distance needed to recapture the floating track platform. James couldn't swim at all, not even enough to float unassisted; Sim was sure of it. He'd only indicated that he sort of could, because he knew not to say anything too embarrassing on camera when the opportunity to re-shoot was likely nonexistent.

Sim quickly took stock of his options. The pond was a good twelve or so feet deep, based on some testing he'd done earlier with a piece of mild steel, and that was assuming that the builders had just scooped it out with a backhoe with the middle being the deepest part, and assuming that the bottom wasn't complete swamp-like sludge. The risks of a non-swimmer panicking in the dirty water started to flood unbidden into his mind, in case he wasn't concerned enough. Sim loosened the laces on his shoes, just in case, and pressed the mute button on his microphone control, just long enough to ask his assistant to fetch the life jacket and stand behind the camera man and keep it out of frame. Sim wanted to demand that James put it on, but he had enough confidence in his own water skills to allow James' pride that bit of protection.

With some safety strategies in place, Sim was able to relax enough to enjoy the opportunity to drive a car into the pond, ostensibly by mistake but mostly he did it because this was his only chance to see it happen outside of race day. They would need a plan in mind if this happened then, and he wanted to verify the suspicion that the car would sink before a rescue could be made... but mostly he just wanted to do it for the sheer joy of watching it happen. That work completed, they got James back out of the pond as efficiently as possible, pausing only long enough to film the bit Sim and the director had planned, involving the two holes that were just a bit bigger than Sim had told James about, in the ill-manufactured waterproof suit.

"I need to speak with James about something before we go on to the next bit," Sim announced as soon as James had scampered off to use Sim's van as a changing room. He felt awkward taking a quasi-leadership position like this, but James had encouraged him to slip into more of a partner role, and he was trying. The crew made themselves scarce, leaving Sim to sit under a tree and wait for his boss to return.


	10. Chapter 10

"James," Sim began when the elder man joined him. "I know you're the employer here, so I'll try to phrase this tactfully and with the utmost respect." James' heart practically stopped, at that. Was Sim quitting? Had the BBC pulled the plug on the project, and the production team had nominated him to share this information? He sat down hard on the ground next to Sim, his face the very picture of worried. "Why the _ever-loving hell_ did you not tell me you can't swim??" Sim squawked, obviously straining to keep his voice down. That's what this was about? James blinked in surprise, then let out a brief laugh before he reined in his reaction. Sim had that look of a parent both worn out and angered by the worry inflicted upon him by his unthinking child's careless actions, which wasn't funny, but James was so relieved that he couldn't quite hold the chuckle in.

"I didn't know the pond was that deep," he answered. "I didn't think it would be important information. Anyway, it's a bit embarrassing… it doesn't really need to be anybody's business."

"I--you--I--" Sim stuttered, then stopped and rubbed his hands over his face, tugging at his own hair in obvious frustration. "So it's not just me? Nobody knows this information, is that what you're saying?"

"People know," James answered. "Andy Wilman, Clarkson and Hammond… my mother, oh, and my sister, much to my dismay… probably a few Top Gear sound recorders and post-production staff have caught on by now."

"Who here, today, knew that you can't swim, before you waded into the pond?" Sim asked, clarifying his point.

"Just me," James answered, as if that should have been obvious. Sim shook his head.

"James," he began, "I… this is not an easy thing to… I think we may have a small but fundamental misunderstanding about my job as a project manager. May I explain it to you?" James nodded. The sick feeling, like he was about to lose his best friend, hadn't subsided entirely yet, but all he knew to do was listen and work to resolve the situation. "I know how Top Gear feels about health and safety, but--"

"That's mostly because it plays well to our audience," James pointed out. "We do value that stuff, though we sometimes disagree with the safety department about where our lines ought to be drawn." Sim nodded in understanding of this added information.

"Safety is a key component of project management, James," Sim explained in a patient tone, the kind of tone that clued James in that he was about to be subjected to A Lecture. "I'm responsible. An illustration from last week… the store I did the remodel for, they asked for shelves that would hold 500 pounds of merchandise per segment, plus all the lighting and advertising, and whatever. I have to plan for everything that could possibly go wrong throughout their entire lifespan, during the design phase and as I plan each step. I have to plan how to protect my workers during that process, and how to protect store employees and customers. It's a moral issue; we all have to consider what our deity of choice would say about our actions, or whatever fits our ethical frame of reference. It's a legal issue, certainly, because if a shelf fell, there would be a lot of questions being asked by people whose scrutiny my life is better without."

Sim paused while they both chuckled at that simple reality of modern life. "But the court of public opinion is the big one, James. That's where my professional reputation exists; it's where my personal reputation exists. I have to ask myself, if they ask for a 500-pound weight limit and I give them exactly that, or even round it up to 550 or 600, and then a shelf were to fall on a customer, what would the headline be? Would I be blamed for not anticipating that next year's handbag fashion might create a heavier product than last year's styles? Would the store swear that they put only a 400-pound load on the shelf, leaving me little ability to prove myself blameless? Could I continue working in my profession if that were how the headline reads? I have to consider these questions every time I develop a project. That's why I designed their shelves for a thousand pounds, and kept careful records of everything from initial design to purchasing materials to installation and inspection. All right?" Sim paused, giving James a moment to nod.

"I think you see where I'm going," Sim continued, "but let me finish, just to be certain. I am responsible for the effects of every aspect of a project, everything I plan, everything I do, everything I don't do, and everything that occurs on a job site. If I miss a detail and that error hurts someone, or if I let a worker do something he's not trained for, that's on me. If I forget to ask you if you can swim, and you get hurt as a result… James, in this area, I need to be the boss. This is my design and planning work, my execution, my management. I'm responsible for you, not the other way round. Not just legally, or in the news, but morally, as well."

James suddenly became aware that Sim's hand had come to rest on his forearm, the kind of gesture that he was fairly sure could convey personal connection in a conversation that was both difficult and deeply important. But he couldn't help but be distracted by that strange sensation he got in his stomach, the same one that he felt when he looked out the window from the upper level of a tall building. He knew, beyond all doubt, that after today his dreams would cast Sim as a sort of protector and provider that, in spite of James' need to be very masculine and independent, he secretly sort of longed for. That longing was why he took Sim's advice so seriously, he knew… because a part of him craved to have somebody hold up a metaphorical shield, prepared to defend him from even himself at times.

It was why, most of the way through the Airfix project, he allowed Sim to come into his hotel room and give him a polite but very firm lecture on letting the children take charge of the project, letting them discover their own inner engineers. Sim had been right, and the project had gone from impending disaster to brilliance as a result but… but James knew the only reason that happened was because… because this thing was evidently more than a flash of lust in the pan. James winced in a blend of pain and dismay at that realisation.

Sim continued, utterly unaware of James' disconcerting thoughts. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into; you're relying on my training and expertise to guard your safety." Sim paused, blowing out a deep sigh laced with tremendous regret. The sound of it was enough to make James flinch in sympathetic pain. "I forgot to ask a very basic question that absolutely should have been asked before assigning you to wade into that pond, and I'm sorry for that. But James, I need you to work with me here, to understand my responsibilities, and if you have information I need, then I need you to share it with me, voluntarily."

"I'm sorry," James answered sincerely. "I'm not sure I quite understood that component of your role. If I had known, I would have told you I can't swim. I was comfortable with the risk I was taking, and I didn't think about how it might affect you if anything had gone wrong."

Sim wrapped one arm around James' shoulders, tugging him into a respectful sideways sort of hug as they sat together in the grass. A shock of -- something -- ran through James' body at the touch. Normally one to shy away from overly-close contact, he couldn't bring himself to pull back this time. It felt too nice. "Ah, you know I can't help but forgive you," Sim muttered with a smile. "But seriously. You didn't tell me about your fear of heights before the bridge project, now this… don't do this to me again, all right? I will admit privately that I don't completely hate the look of the gray hairs I've got, but I don't need any more!"

"It is a good look," James acknowledged, then flinched. Had he really just… oh, cock.

"Thank you," Sim answered. James breathed a sigh of relief at his unflappable friend's lack of reaction to that awkward moment. "There's not anything else I need to know, is there? No allergy to bees... allergy to asphalt? You didn't end up with a magnetized finger in a bizarre Top Gear accident that could short out the Scalextric track or blow up any batteries?" James, despite his discomfort with Sim's unusual closeness, laughed at the younger man's ability to give lightness to a heavy conversation. "Is there anything I should know about the remaining work, or any medical issues that you think could come up?"

James shook his head, then paused. "Well, it might be important to know that I was born without wisdom teeth," he said in mock seriousness. Sim snickered at that. "Also I can't stand it when a person's watch bezel is neither oriented towards twelve o'clock nor being used for its intended purpose."

"Ugh, how vulgar," Sim agreed as he started to pull himself to his feet. "People shouldn't buy that sort of watch if they're not going to treat it properly. All right, are we good? Let's go play." He held a hand down towards James, the younger man's infectious grin wiping away the last of the tension from the lecture he'd just been subjected to. The air sufficiently cleared, the pair sank happily into the last bit of the workday, sitting around (or lying around, in Sim's case) playing with the Scalextric cars in front of the cameras, while discussing the various issues they'd face in staging the race. It seemed like no time at all had elapsed before James was sitting across from Sim in the dim hotel bar, enjoying a simple meal as they continued to obsess over notebook sketches and to-do lists, passing the pencil back and forth as they added information here and there. Neither of them could be bothered to go back to a room and grab a second pencil, but James wondered if that had been a mistake when he noticed the thrill that shot through his belly every time their hands touched.

"Where did you learn the term, power slide?" James asked in one lull in the conversation, thinking back over the day's filming. Sim had described the Scalextric car as power sliding up a corkscrew segment of track they'd built to address the obstacle of the stairs in the way of their race track. The younger man blushed a faint pink, at that question.

"It's actually sort of a relaxing programme," he answered in a vaguely defensive tone. "It doesn't demand much, intellectually, from its viewers, and it's made your passion for the Scalextric project a lot more understandable. I enjoy seeing a different component of your personality, as well."

"And you learned the term..?" James asked again with a grin.

"YouTube," Sim admitted. James' laugh at the unexpected answer concealed his internal frown of uncertainty; the thought of his colleague going to those lengths to watch his other work, warmed his heart to an unnerving degree. "I'm starting to catch on, though," Sim continued with an infectious laugh that broke James out of his thoughts to laugh along with as they moved on, thoroughly enjoying a working dinner that felt so much more like play than work. James, not quite tired enough to sleep when he finally did return to his room, reclined on his bed for a few minutes, then picked up his mobile and surfed through it for a familiar contact entry.

"Have I won the Scalextric bet?" Jeremy's voice came through the line.

"No, and you're not going to," James answered with a grin. He let his colleague tease him for a moment, then rehash his own day for James' feedback before he returned the favour. James briefly summarised his thoughts, or rather, his lack of certainty about them. He wasn't sure what to make of the weird flippy-stomach feeling that he'd started to experience when Sim touched him, which he was beginning to notice Sim was doing more often. Or the fact that he got the same feeling when Sim said he enjoyed seeing other bits of James' personality in other programmes. "I've even let him lecture me, at least twice that I can remember, and probably more than that," James explained to his thoughtful friend. "And I'm not only sitting through them, but willingly accepting his recommendations."

Jeremy's sigh came through the phone loud and clear, at that information. The elder man knew that it wasn't in James' nature to heed lectures; it hadn't been since he was maybe nine years old, much to his mother's dismay. "Sounds like love, May," Jeremy said, the last serious statement before their conversation devolved into bad jokes and snarky remarks thrown at one another. James was still laughing when the call drew to an end, although he was also still musing over the whole… feelings… thing. Jeremy's flippant remark hadn't really helped, honestly, nor had his reiteration that James needed more sleep. He still wasn't sure what to make of the entire mess. And he really wasn't sure what to make of the fact that he'd accidentally said that he liked the younger man's hair, gray bits and all. Oh god, the jokes Jeremy would have made about that. Thank goodness he'd forgotten that detail until after he'd got off the phone. This was some kind of weird infatuation or -- 

Oh. Oh god.

This wasn't infatuation, wasn't some kind of random animalistic fascination with a person's physique or whatever.

Oh, cock.

Jeremy's stupid remark. Occam's Razor. However you want to look at it. The simplest answer, the answer that explained every single facet of James' behaviour in the neatest, most efficient manner, was one word. Love. He'd fallen in love with Sim Oakley… with someone who had shown no interest in him, no inclination towards men at all, really.

Bloody fucking Nora.

Now what?


	11. Chapter 11

James glanced over at the shiny new bar that stood across from the Man Lab living room, smiling in the same way that he tended to look at his nieces and nephews. He was supposed to be listening to whatever his producer was saying about the work to be done over the next couple of days, but he couldn't stop glancing sideways at the lab's newest developed space. He was besotted with it. Utterly and completely so. Maybe a bit beyond that, honestly, but he couldn't think of a better word for it without his trusty thesaurus. There was something incredible about the smell of beer, and to smell it, fresh from the barrel, in his own personal playground, was quite simply a thing of beauty.

"James and I will work that out this evening; we were planning to grab a pint anyhow," Sim said, suddenly making him realise he was missing something probably vital. James' attention snapped back to the discussion, but he wasn't able to gather enough detail to have any idea what was going on. Or maybe he was just getting distracted again, he realised as he noticed himself gazing at the bar yet again. Either way, Sim seemed to know what was going on, and his response had been accepted by Tom… or whomever was in charge of the meeting.

"You want to go to a conventional pub, or just grab a pint here while we sort out the cinema project?" Sim asked as people were starting to gather their things and leave for the day. Ahh, the cinema. So that's what he'd been volunteered to work on.

James made a displeased noise. "No more people, please," he answered, provoking Sim to toss his notebook on the bar with an agreeable smile. "What part of the cinema are we supposed to be sorting out?"

Sim laughed. "I thought you might be too busy ogling the bar to hear what was going on in the meeting. We need to figure out how we're going to produce the film for the project." James nodded, taking the role of bartender and absently filling glasses as he watched Sim flip through the notebook for a blank page. "Did you have any ideas for the film?"

"I was not ogling," James argued without the slightest hint of conviction, which only prompted Sim to laugh again. Damn, that wasn't helping his focus any more than the bar was. James pinched at the top of his nose as if to stave off headache, then stalled by sipping at his beer while he sifted through the chaotic organisation of his mind. Finally, he shook his head. He had no clue whatsoever, what to do with the movie part of the movie theatre. "Do you have any ideas?" he asked finally. Sim, too, shook his head.

"I was thinking we could have a pint or two and then start working," Sim answered as he perched on a barstool. "See if we can find some ideas once our thought processes are sufficiently lubricated." James nodded idly. _Lubricated thought process. That's not a bad phrase for describing the usefulness of beer while working._ Unfortunately, it also gave James some other ideas relating to lubricant needs, prompting him to groan in dismay. _See?_ he told himself. Clearly, this was the same foolish physical attraction he'd dealt with many times before. It was just hanging on a lot longer because they worked together. Of course, he and Hammond worked together, as well… oh, but they often went weeks without seeing one another as they each did their own films, instead of working together in the same room, in front of the same camera, standing well within kissing range -- oookay not helping. Bar. Beer. Cinema ideas. James blew out a sigh at himself. He hated these occasional days when his mind seemed to jump all over the map. Just a common expression of stress, he knew, and he always had a bit of extra stress this time of year. But he hated the way it impacted his admittedly minimal social skills and made him even worse at keeping his private thoughts private.

Sim watched quietly for a moment as they consumed the fruit of this week's labour. Well, not fruit, exactly, since it wasn't wine, but grain of this week's labour just didn't have a nice ring to it. James watched the thoughtful frown on his colleague's face as he observed, and he was suddenly afraid Sim might figure out that this whole flash-in-the-pan lust lark had turned into something altogether more annoying… might figure out the lust lark in the first place, which James was fairly sure he'd kept well-hidden. James shook his head at the irrational worry. Of course he hadn't been found out.

Sim took one more gulp of his beer, then put down the cup, set down the pencil, pushed his notebook away… every possible visual cue that he was setting work aside. "James, what's wrong?" Orrr maybe he had…

"Nothing, why?" James answered, then frowned slightly at himself for having invited further discussion on his mood.

"You've been quiet all day. You get quiet sometimes, but you're still engaging and funny, sometimes even more so because nobody quite realises you're there until you make a wry remark. You're enjoyable to be around whether you're feeling animated or more subdued. Something is different today, James. Today, I've been worried about you. I'm not asking you if anything is wrong. I'm asking what it is."

James sighed with just a touch of relief. Oh. Sim had noticed the other thing… the thing that his Top Gear colleagues had also observed made him quiet and out of sorts. His idiotic little crush wasn't what his friend had observed. Sim was asking what was different about today in particular, which wasn't the foolishness running riot in his heart. James knew exactly what he was picking up on. He took a moment to make peace with the conversation he was about to have, and then took a cleansing breath.

"It's the twentieth of September," James said.

"Is that a birthday, anniversary… the anniversary of a death?" Sim asked, making James smile ruefully. He'd become so accustomed to being surrounded by people who knew his life history probably better than he did. It was refreshing and yet weird to spend time with somebody who didn't know every detail offhand.

James took a deep, cleansing breath, turning the pint glass around in his hands as the evening of 20 September 2006 began to unfurl in his mind, transitioning from its normal place in his unconscious memory, over to the part where each detail became excruciatingly clear in his mind. "Anniversary of the day my entire world came crashing down around me," he answered as he lifted his glass for a sip.


	12. Chapter 12

It wasn't that he was unaware of the stricken look of concern on Sim's face. James just couldn't bring himself to look up and take it in. Couldn't bear to see it without trying to kiss it away, to banish the worry in those beautiful dark eyes and restore them to their usual confident calmness. Oh god, how had he ended up in this mess?

James thought for a moment as his thoughts began to organise, bringing themselves into order so he could share 20 September with Sim. "It's the anniversary of the day I nearly died, in sort of roundabout way," James answered. "It's the anniversary of the day Richard Hammond really did very nearly die. Four years ago today, he had a horrible accident in… it was a…"

"I remember hearing about it," Sim said gently, reminding James that it had been such big news that even somebody who'd never seen their work, knew about the bloke from Top Gear, barely clinging to life. "It must have been quite frightening." 

"Sobering. And yet, not enough alcohol in all the world..." James sipped his beer, then leant over to the tap to top it off again.

"He very nearly died," James repeated. "Even when he started to recover, nobody knew if he was still in there, for a while… if he could find his way back to his former self. I was supposed to die in that accident. It's not the most logical way of perceiving it, I know, but I think about it sometimes. You want a refill?"

Sim frowned in confusion, then realised James was offering more beer. "No, not yet. What do you mean, you were supposed to die?"

"I was supposed to drive the jet car that day. There was a change in scheduling the week before because I had another project going on, and a scheduling conflict arose. Which was terribly frustrating… Captain Slow, setting a land speed record for Britain. It would have made phenomenal television." James sighed. "Instead, that… that horrible thing… happened to Hammond."

"I wasn't aware of that detail," Sim observed. "Sounds like a bit of survivor's guilt." James gave a hum of agreement.

"He's one of my closest friends, and I know he…" James paused to run a hand through his hair. It did nothing to organise any of it, the bits on his head or the bits inside. "We've discussed it. He's said that if he'd known ahead of time what would come and that by going through the accident, he would save me from dying in it, he would willingly sign up for the task. I personally would elect to avoid it entirely, if we'd had foreknowledge, but I take his point." James glanced up, giving Sim a weary smile. It had been a very sweet thing for Hammond to say, if a little awkward.

"Sounds like a strong friendship," Sim commented. "forged in rather severe fire." James made another noise of agreement.

"It was the most horrifying call I've ever received," James mused, starting to sink into memories. "I can't even imagine the impending death of a parent being that bad. Painful, certainly, but at some point you come to accept the inevitable fact that we are meant to outlive our parents. You don't expect… this… with your youngest, most lively colleague, short of the interns. They really didn't know if… I drove as fast as I dared, that night. They even wondered if he'd live long enough for us to get there and say goodbye. In my life, I've never cried or prayed as much as I did in that first week." James paused, wondering why he was sharing any of this. This wasn't how he wanted an employee to see him. His mind flipped unbidden back to the day they recorded what would be Man Lab's introduction. He'd called Sim his friend. It wasn't just something he'd said flippantly for the viewer, either; he'd meant it. If you couldn't be your real, messy self in front of a trusted friend, in the privacy of your own personal pub, then what's the point of having either?

James smiled wryly at his own silly thoughts before moving on. "We had to deal with so much, Jeremy and I… Hammond, helping his wife cope, dealing with the PR nightmare at work, the PR nightmare with the media, with stupid rumours, with… I'm not built for that foolishness, Simmy. If I were, I would have studied politics instead of music. Some idiot asked me if Hammond had had his license suspended for… I can't even recall what. Something that, if it were true, would have strongly suggested that he was unstable or something, and shouldn't be driving for a living. I was so severely tempted to just punch the wanker."

Sim watched James, tilting his head thoughtfully as he took in the story that he sensed was only beginning to unfold. No wonder James had been so quiet and lost in thought all day. "What else did you think about today?" he asked, wondering if merely talking about it all would be enough to drain the rest of the painful melancholy out of James.

"Stupid things, mostly," James answered. "The Lego house we built for Toy Stories was partially inspired by Hammond's accident." Sim squinted in confusion, at that information. "When he was recovering, it was like he was growing up all over again, he regressed so badly." James paused, shaking his head. "It was as if the accident had broken the connections in his brain, and the only way he could rebuild them was to start over from a childlike state and go through the whole growth process over again, moody teenage phase and all. It was… I know I keep using this word, but I don't have any other. It was completely horrifying, Simmy."

James paused to glance up at Sim, shaking his head as if to convey the shock and disbelief that he still, sometimes, experienced just from reflecting upon that chapter in their lives. "It carried on for months, even after he returned to work," he continued after a moment's break. "It was so frightening and painful just to go through it with him, just to help him cope and conceal it from the fans. I can't even imagine what it must have been like to experience that nightmare firsthand. Bad enough to go through that process as a teenager, but to do it as a husband and father, trying to manage a job and pay bills and be responsible and… and a job like ours, in the public eye." James paused to shake his head yet again. The strength that Hammond had demonstrated in that time, and that it had demanded he and Jeremy both develop from thin air… it still overwhelmed him at times.

A couple sips of beer later, James was ready to continue. "One thing that got through to him was a Lego set I'd sent as a bit of a joke. He connected with it. Engineering toys in general helped, but Lego in specific. Mindy spent so much on… that's his wife, Mindy… she bought every Lego kit she could find, while he was in hospital, once she noticed that it was helping him redevelop those links between whatever childish understanding he had after the accident, and the bits of brain where his mature intelligence was stored. We still play with Lego now and then, whenever he feels out of sorts. I'd thought about doing Toy Stories ever since that experience, seeing how that simple toy affected his healing. It was the greatest thing in the world, getting to do that project finally last year." James realised he'd been rambling on for quite a bit, and paused for a moment, as if to let the room recover from the overflow. He certainly needed a minute to recover from it. "And that's September twentieth," he said by way of conclusion.

James and Sim fell into a companionable silence, James still standing by the tap ready to refill glasses while Sim sat at the bar and pushed his notebook around aimlessly with the eraser end of his pencil. "So, bit of a melancholy day for you," Sim said. James nodded slowly.

"Painful, but… but not. So much changed that day. We lost our innocence. We value one another in a way that I doubt we would have without that experience. In some ways, we're better for having endured it together. But… it's a horrible memory to be stuck with." James gave Sim a mildly distressed look, running a hand through his hair as if he were trying to brush away all his feelings. And then James suddenly found himself tucked into a very muscular embrace, his senses overwhelmed with the feeling of warm arms around him and the scent of sawdust and machine oil seeming to seep into his pores. James huffed in frustration. This was doing exactly nothing to help get rid of these crazy unwelcome feelings of infatuation -- yes, it _was_ infatuation because he was not about to say the L-word again. It wasn't that. It couldn't be. He didn't have time to feel that way about Sim… didn't have the strength to endure that sort of pain.


	13. Chapter 13

As quickly as it had come, the touchy-feely hugging moment ended. The cooler air in the room enveloped him as the younger man stepped back and returned to his barstool, and James found that he missed the warmth, bitterly. He frowned slightly at that. "Sorry," Sim said, "I know you can't stand… but you seemed like you needed it." James opened his mouth, but no words came. The younger man was right; regardless of what feelings might have been stirred up, he really had needed a hug. He couldn't lie to Sim, not about this. Instead, he just made a vague grunt that sounded suspiciously like a muttered "thank you". Sim smiled softly, then passed his half-full glass over for a top-off.

James refilled it and passed it back to Sim, still gathering his defences back together after that close encounter. A piece of him… a rather large piece, he admitted in spite of his own horror, wanted nothing more than to make his way around the bar and return the favour, grabbing Sim in an overwhelming hug. The only problem with that was that… James shoved the thoughts out of his head before they were allowed to develop any further. He was not going to think about kissing anybody, not at work… definitely not at work with this man. Step one in banishing unhelpful feelings was to give them no attention, after all. His heart ached so badly that it felt like a very real physical pain, and glancing up at Sim didn't make it any better. But it did steel his resolve. Sim's friendship was too wonderful, too precious in a world of people so utterly unable to understand James. He couldn't jeopardise that for something as silly as his undisciplined feelings.

"James…" Sim said after a moment. "I have an idea. Are you ready to talk about the cinema project yet? Got your alcohol system refilled sufficiently?" James grinned at the description and nodded. He was ready to talk about anything that wasn't his heart.

"What's the idea, Simmy?" He could tell by the look on the younger man's face that he was about to suggest something he wasn't too sure about, so James leaned back on the counter behind him, getting as prepared as possible for the opportunity to take the piss out of his colleague.

"Well, you're directing the film, right?" Sim asked. James nodded. "I remember in Top Gear, Jeremy said that nobody would ask you to direct a porn film because --" Sim's hesitant, hazily remembered idea was interrupted by the loud, awkward, infectious laughter of his boss.

"Because I would have the character show up to fix the boiler, and then just fix it and completely ignore the lady in the nightie!" James finished with a loud laugh before shifting into brainstorming mode. "We can't put her in a nightie, we're not that kind of show. What could we… oh! A towel, if she were wrapped in a towel? So why is our female character in a towel…"

Sim grinned. This was the lively, fun James with whom he was so familiar. "My mate recently got called out for a plumbing problem, and it turned out the fuse had blown on the electric water pump that served the shower. Lady of the house was in a bathrobe, soap in her hair, and pissed as hell about the whole thing." James laughed again, nodding excitedly as Sim told the story. This, this would work. Together, they devised the most cliché scenario they could imagine, down to the plumber having a 70's-style moustache.

"Do you have those really big towels?" James asked. "I don't know where they come from or what they're called; hotels have them sometimes."

"Do we need one?" Sim asked in response.

"If a standard towel isn't long enough to properly cover our actress, we'll have to turn it into a gay not-porno scene, and I'm not sure our audience is ready for a film on the proper way to come out of the closet." James froze. Even he hadn't known that was about to come out of his mouth. If he had, he would have washed it right back down with a swig of beer, just for fear of accidentally outing himself. Glancing at his glass, he noticed it half-full, and suddenly he found the need to focus intently on refilling it very, very slowly.

"Nobody should have a problem with a gay anything," Sim muttered, causing James to risk a glance at him just in time to see the younger man rolling his eyes in disgust. "But you're right. If we want to start looking for ways to offend viewers, we need to rename the show to Top Gear: Woodworking Edition." The not-so-subtle joke broke James' awkwardness and brought a laugh from deep within. James indicated towards Sim's half-full glass, but the younger man waved him off. "No, one of us needs to dry out enough to drive us home. All right, we need a large towel. What else? I'll send the prop list out to everyone and see what we can borrow."

James nodded at that. "A camera, but we have plenty of those," he mused.

"No, it should be old-fashioned," Sim answered. "We should show the editing process with actual film, so we need one of those cameras, like what really posh people had in the 60's or something." James was already nodding his agreement at that.

"Put that on the list, but I'll also check with Oz Clarke," James said. "He probably owns one, he's weird enough for it. Oh, and the hat, what did they use in the 70's when they wanted to make it obvious that the character was supposed to be a director, it looked like a beret but it wasn't."

Sim stared at the elder man in confusion for a moment, then burst into loud, infectious laughter, leaning over the bar as if to brace himself. "I have one of those; somebody gave it to me as a joke! I hope it was a joke, anyway, I look awful in hats. I'll bring it tomorrow. And you, you need a vintage shirt, like a sleazy porn film director stereotype."

By the end of the evening, they had two pages of ideas for the film, a list of items they'd need to borrow, and enough laughter that both men's ribs had gone sore in spite of the muscle-relaxant properties of the beer. James handed over his keys when the brainstorming session had wound down. The Panda would get better fuel economy than Sim's van, after all.

He conveniently left out the part where, as Jeremy Clarkson had once demonstrated, the diminutive size of it could be exploited for the purposes of touching someone. Mostly because even James didn't know he had that idea in mind until they were halfway to James' house and Sim had stopped even trying to avoid the hand that kept bumping him every time he changed gears.

Oh, cock. Hiding his feelings really wasn't something James was good at. On camera, or in public, sure, but not in the privacy of his own car, not after the fourth drink or so. Not when that hug had left him this badly ruffled. He tried to run his hand through his hair as a way of venting agitation, but this resulted in merely elbowing Sim in the shoulder, midway through a turn which startled him and caused the car to waver in its lane.

Sim squawked in dismay as he firmly guided the car back into its proper place. "James, I'm nervous enough putting my driving skill on display for the master; would you please sit still?"

The comment sent James' insides twirling in what felt like completely random movements. But he knew there was nothing random about any of this… it was the way he always felt when he was regarded so highly, by someone whose attentions he-- James shook his head. "Compliment all you like, but I can't raise your pay," he said, turning the moment into a joke. "And I'm not that good. But thank you."

"I've seen your work," Sim countered. "If I were as not-good as you, I'd be very happy with that.

"I enjoy riding with you," James said, then nearly choked when he realised what he'd just done. Sim smiled at him, obviously having taken it as a compliment on his skill, rather than... no, no no no. It was a compliment about Sim's driving skill, and nothing more. James nodded resolutely. He would win this battle, would be the master of his feelings rather than the other way around. Although the shoulder lightly touching his in the small car was awfully warm and inviting....


	14. Chapter 14

James stopped working momentarily, giving a frown of distaste at the popping sound his back insisted upon making as he stretched his body upward from its previous hunched pose. The sound and sensation both put him off on principle, not to mention it reminded him of his age. This project was a bit more heavily dependent on manual labour than he'd realised when he'd agreed to build a pool table from scratch. They'd spent a whole day yesterday… or was it the day before?.. diligently chiselling away at what would become the table's legs, removing bark from cut pieces of tree trunk. And now they'd spent half of yesterday, and all of today on the various tasks required to turn those uniquely-grown sections of tree into a foundation upon which they could mount a perfectly flat, perfectly level table surface. The idea to use natural wood was great in terms of weight and visual appeal, but the maths work…

But, as James looked about at the team, each carefully working on his or her assigned task, he knew it would be worth it. Anyway, the idea had been pitched by the one person he couldn't seem to bring himself to say no to. James' eyes settled on the cause of his aching back, Sim Oakley.

Somewhere over the years, James had lost the ability to refuse even the most outlandish request made by his favourite chief engineer, a phrase which might sound silly coming from anyone else, but after the two Toy Stories projects in which his project manager had been not-Sim, James definitely had a favourite. And not just because he enjoyed watching the ruffled, unkempt man who seemed to think nothing of rocking up to work wearing cargo shorts and t-shirts with holes in them, utterly ignoring the fact that this just isn't done, that it might be cold outside, or even the possibility that nobody else might care to see his knobby knees. As long as he had cargo pockets and a loop from which to hang essential tools (today it was a spare chisel), Sim was happy as a flipping clam.

Not that James was complaining about Sim's definition of business casual; at some point, it was simply time to admit to himself that he enjoyed the opportunity to see more of his chief engineer. As if to appease his preference, Sim's shorts shifted to reveal just a bit of thigh as the younger man straddled the log upon which he was working. James observed Sim's posture, as if taking in factual details was any different from merely enjoying the view. Sim leant forward from the hips, his entire body working together to position his hands at the proper height and angle to chisel at the area that would become part of the, ahem, interpenetration between the legs and the horizontal bits of pool table frame. James genuinely enjoyed watching the engineer work, enjoyed the speed with which he moved and yet the precision he achieved. If James worked that quickly, his comparatively lesser motor skills would break down and yield failure and, quite likely, copious amounts of blood. But Sim had a talent for this, supported by what had to be many, many hours of studious practice. James snickered at himself.

James reflected on the various projects upon which they'd worked together. In Sim, he'd found something of a kindred spirit, someone who shared his passion for engineering, his yearning to probe his imagination for completely new ideas, and his ability to laugh at himself. The key difference being, Sim had the engineering background to breathe life into James' dreams. James wasn't sure if he regretted not pursuing engineering at university, or thanked his lucky stars for the path he had taken, that gave him the opportunity to work with such a brilliant, gifted… beautiful man.

James felt his skin warm slightly as he allowed the thought to pass through his mind. Somewhere in between the first and second series of Man Lab, he'd given up on ignoring reality. Ignoring it hadn't worked. Doubling down and ignoring it with a vengeance hadn't worked, either. Asking Jeremy's advice hadn't either… it had, at first, but then Jeremy had devolved from supportive words into schoolyard taunts about trees and kissing, although James had no clue what one had to do with the other. Although… Sim was sitting on a bit of a tree, and he did look sort of… James sighed. Accepting his infatuation, trying to roll with it until it faded instead of treating it like the forbidden fruit, had also not worked. If anything, since the last series of Man Lab, it had only grown. But it certainly was easier than constantly trying to suppress and bully the thoughts out of his head.

James' awkwardness only increased when he realised that not only was he staring, and probably tinged with pink, but he'd also been caught. Those rich, deep eyes that he could lose himself forever in, were staring back at him. Sim cocked his head in an unspoken question as he raised one eyebrow, a gesture that was only sort of visible behind the frames of his glasses. James smiled shyly, nodded towards Rory Barker, who was fortunately staring at his part of the task with an expression of deep confusion, and shared a brief grin of amusement with Sim before returning to work. Oops. Damn.

It wasn't the first time this week that he'd been caught staring, just like earlier, when Sim had been refining the building plan at his workbench earlier, it hadn't been the first time he'd been caught in Sim's personal space. James suppressed a wry chuckle at the memory. He must have known James was close by, as they discussed the last-minute design improvements Sim suggested. But since they weren't being recorded and thus didn't need to stand ridiculously close together for framing reasons, clearly Sim thought he had more elbow room. When he turned to look at James in the natural course of the conversation, he'd jumped with surprise to find that his boss was lurking close enough to read over his shoulder. It had been a tad embarrassing and he'd grown a little worried about blowing his cover. But he is, in the end, British, and so James couldn't help but find his own foibles highly amusing.

James turned his focus back to the task at hand, carving his assigned table leg into the right shape to couple with the horizontal beams, and then plotting the remaining geometric edits needed to bring nature into alignment with Sim's construction plans. Around lunchtime, they took a break to film what would become the pool table intro. James wondered briefly as they set up the shoot if he should rework it. Working with the director, he'd designed this segment for… well, for his own enjoyment, honestly. Sim would face the camera, completely ignoring it while he replicated the sketches and/or notation he'd made in the original pool table design phase, while James approached from behind, speaking to camera about the project. In the moment, he would enjoy the view of Sim's lanky back. In post-production, and later at home, he'd get to watch the younger man in his natural habitat, deep in thought as he ignored the world around him in favour of the beautiful ideas swirling in his mind. James considered, but decided not to redesign the film piece, as that might be weirder than having planned it in the first place. Sim, a consummate thinker, was probably fully capable of pondering a last-minute film change until he discovered the feelings and motives underlying the original design.

When he watched the preview of the film, he grinned at the hint of a smile that came across Sim's face as James did his intro bit. God, it was such a gorgeous smile, the way it grew as his thoughts stepped away from the front of his mind to allow the world around him to touch his senses. The way his eyes lit up as he listened in on James' dryly amusing remarks about the pool table's origin, it made James' chest feel like it was being twisted as if to pop all the bubble wrap at once. James rolled his eyes at himself. Dear Lord, he had it bad. Although it didn't escape his notice that Sim, who despite his current career path wasn't particularly fond of being at the business end of the cameras, agreed to the shot without a moment's discussion. Where he would strenuously suggest revisions to anyone else, for James, he simply said yes. "Looks good," James pronounced after a few moments of trying to pretend he was critically appraising the raw video rather than just watching that smile over and over again. "Let's get back to work." Together they returned to the woodworking project at the other end of the cavernous room, where it was already time to film a little more discussion before they started carving the joints.

James revelled in the closeness afforded when Sim explained the mortise and tenon joints of the interpenetration he'd designed… and in their shared enjoyment of the word interpenetration. James had, after all, reached the age where it was a delight to meet someone who could still appreciate schoolboy humour rather than trying to be far too mature for such things. It was, he felt, a perfect day when he could make his engineer laugh on camera. Some days James would turn that into a secondary game with which to amuse himself, seeing how many on-screen laughs he could provoke. The entire pool table project was spent playing this game, racking up several chuckles for interpenetration (even though most would likely get cut), one for his remark that if the table wasn't level it would make a long-lasting bonfire, and his personal favourite, the one when he described intern Rory as looking "like a virgin teenager at a wedding reception." James mentally thanked colleague Jeremy Clarkson for inspiring his skill in ridiculous analogies, which provoked that most beautiful laugh.

He'd spent most of his time on this project being utterly enthralled with Sim's work. When he wasn't too busy fooling around having fun with his partner in nerdiness, he often found himself overwhelmed by amazement at the things the younger man came up with. It was in moments like these that James was most thankful for his own path in life. Engineering skills could be taught, but could he have ever developed the particular flavour of creativity that poured forth every time Sim got within reach of a pencil… James doubted it.

Alone in the building after the day's work ended, the elder man found himself standing at the incomplete pool table. Today they had finished the frame that would support the slate, which had arrived tonight, and they'd film its arrival and installation tomorrow. He dragged his fingers idly along the bones of the table, as he thought of the pleasant moments they'd shared thus far in its construction. He often touched their projects like this, marvelling at the simplicity and perfection evident in equal portions in each carefully-designed piece. Somewhere inside, he knew his fascination with each piece was a metaphor for how he felt about its designer, the touch a mere substitute for what he really wanted to run his fingers along -- or rather, whom.

An odd sound distracted him momentarily. James frowned, glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the high-pitched noise. He grabbed the clipboard where Sim kept his to-do list, and added a boiler checkup to it. Then he returned to the pool table, only sort of thinking about the tasks they would complete tomorrow. Most of his mind was working at his other to-do list item, the one he still hadn't figured out how to address: what to do about his feelings (because no, it really wasn't infatuation) for his colleague. After a moment, he ran one hand through his hair, grabbing and gently tugging a handful of it in extreme frustration. "Ahh, Simmy," he said to himself. "I tried so hard not to love you. How could I let this happen?"

"What?" a voice asked. James jumped so hard that his fingers, curled around the table's edge, managed to move it slightly from the sheer force of his startlement. He resisted the urge to whirl around and look towards the makeshift doorway that divided the grimy workspace from the relatively neater Man Lab area. He didn't have to; even if he hadn't recognised the voice, Murphy's Law had the situation covered. James' breaths came fast as he tried to think of something, anything that sounded similar enough to his actual words, that he could claim to have said it instead.

"I… just thinking about post-production," he answered lamely, not having come up with anything. "Sorry, I didn't know anyone was still here."

"Forgot my book," Sim said, pointing at the engineering notebook balanced on two of the table's horizontal beams. "You planning changes to the voiceovers? Because… if so, I'd rather you test that one out on me first." James turned finally to shoot him a confused look. He hadn't actually heard… he couldn't have. James had only muttered it quietly, Sim had been all the way across… James felt his blood run cold when he remembered how unusually sharp Sim's hearing was, and how clearly voices carried in their workshop when it was quiet. Oh God. James gazed, unfocused, at some point in the distance, unsure what to do now.

Sim bent slightly, seeking contact with his boss's downcast gaze, his deep, rich eyes peering at James over the top of his glasses, through his unkempt hair, his face the picture of serene thoughtfulness. A slight smile added warmth to his beautiful eyes. James wanted to respond, wanted to… say something. But he couldn't, partly because the thought had come into his mind that Sim was close enough to smell the scent of wood and mechanic's hand scrub… close enough to kiss, and now that he'd realised it, he wanted to do that rather than say anything at all. He wondered if his strained puffs of breath were giving him away. He had no idea if breathing hard was a clue about one's romantic interests, or if that was just rubbish out of a bad romance novel, and anyway, if Sim had heard his words then there really was no "giving himself away" left to be done. James forced himself to take a deep breath, controlling the one thing that was, however tenuously, still within his power.

"James," Sim said, putting the brakes on the older man's racing thoughts. "Say it again."

"Why?" James asked. Sim tilted his head even lower and curving his body, trying to make eye contact with the boss who was now quite brightly coloured and keeping his head down in a hopeless attempt to hide in his own long hair.

"Because if it's true, I at least deserve to hear it, to my face, on purpose," Sim answered, as if that were painfully obvious. "I know what I'm asking for is difficult, but please. I so rarely ask anything of you."

James sighed and nodded at that. As far as James could recall, other than asking him to trust Sim on a couple of unusually precarious construction ideas, Sim had never asked anything of him, actually. Just this. And he was right, he had the right to hear it plainly, to know instead of always wondering if his ears had played tricks on him. James closed his eyes, mentally prepared to be punched… to be handed a resignation letter written in pencil on a torn-out sheet of an engineering sketchbook… whatever. "I love you," he whispered, suddenly unable to engage his voice. "Sorry."

James twitched slightly at the way his stomach seemed to flip over, the quivering feeling that worked its way up his chest, his nerves processing emotion into a physical sensation and conducting it along nerve pathways to make even his teeth and scalp feel odd. Which was nothing, he expected, compared to the physical sensation that was forthcoming.

He jumped back when something did indeed touch his face, but his mind turned to complete confusion when there was no flash of pain. Instead, he felt strong hands reach up and rest on his cheeks, fingertips wrapping around his head so he couldn't dodge, and then the sensation happened again. This time, when the touch happened, James recognised it. Lips, those perfectly out-of-proportion lips that graced Sim's sharp, angled features. And they were touching his, tender and exploring, nipping delicately as if trying to entice James out of his shell. As if James were a wild animal that Sim was trying to tempt into domestication with a bit of food. For a moment, he couldn't resist the temptation, returning the gentle nips with a soft whine, too uncertain yet to venture any further. It had been so long since his heart had been properly fed.

James jerked back at the sensation of a tongue touching his lip, and this time Sim let him. "Really?" he asked, confusion and surprise plain on his face.

Sim nodded, then shrugged as an easygoing smile crept across his face. "We can take it slow if you'd rather."

Take it slow. That didn't sound like a good idea at all. James shook his head at that. "No… I… no. Not slow, please. Home?" Sim gave him a slightly surprised look.

"You want me to come home with you, today?" he asked, clarifying the situation. James cast his eyes about the lab. No, not really… this was their home, their shared space filled with the memories they'd built together. Sim's smile spread into the full, million-watt grin. "You want it right on this pool table, don't you?" James made a strangled sound, looking very much like a deer in the headlights. "Is that what you have in mind, James? An… interpenetration..?" Sim sniggered at his own immature use of the word, provoking a smile from James.

"A thousand people have keys to this place," James said, trying his hardest to be practical. "I want exactly none of them to see my pasty white, wrinkly, foolish-looking--"

"Nature abhors uniformity," Sim said authoritatively, borrowing James' own words from yesterday's filming. "You shouldn't aspire to be the human version of flat-pack furniture, meeting some arbitrary standard of sameness that strips away your natural beauty in favour of somebody else's foolish, vain idea of perfection." As Sim spoke, his hand rubbed the pool table lovingly. James drew in a sharp breath, wondering what it might feel if that hand touched him with the same reverence. "That said, I can't exactly claim to be an exhibitionist, either. Besides, it'll be a lot nicer after the table's finished. Let's get out of here."

James stared for a moment, too frozen with surprise to even blink, before his brain shifted into gear and sent him practically running for his car.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know this is four times longer than my target chapter length for this work, but there was just no good place to break it up, so here it all is. One more "real" one to go, and then I'll get around to sharing the outtakes. No idea how long that last chapter will take me. It's far more rough than this one was (this was actually the original, and then the rest of the story unfolded around it) and I'm in my last four weeks of school. Eek, it's finally almost here! But it's also sucking up a lot of my story-editing time (the nerve...) so, yeah, sorry about that. But it's coming!

Before James allowed himself to think about what he was doing, he was already leading Sim up to his bedroom. It wasn't in James' nature to move quite this quickly, but… well, he wanted to, and he was old enough to know a good idea when he saw one. But… now what? Once in the bedroom, James leant awkwardly on the edge of his bed, while Sim leant awkwardly against the closed door as if wanting to maintain an escape route. James wished they had come in one car, so they could have talked during the drive, and maybe gotten past this part already.

"Have you ever done this before?" Sim asked. "Slept with a man? I think that's what you have in mind, anyway, since you brought me into your bedroom."

"A little bit, at university," James answered, flushing pink at the admission even though the news that he'd experimented with men was certain to be well-received. "What about you?"

"Same, dorm-room experiments," Sim answered with a cheeky grin. "Things like that. It's been a few years, but I recall enjoying it."

James extended one hand in an invitation. "Care to find out if you still do?"

Sim chuckled. "We really don't get less awkward with maturity, do we?" he asked as he stepped forward into James' open arms. "We just learn to appreciate ourselves in our natural state," he muttered against James' lips before claiming them with a sense of greed, as if he needed to devour all he could before the opportunity was lost. James groaned at the sensation of Sim's hands suddenly buried in his hair, then smiled against the kiss when his own hands provoked a similar groan as they found their way to Sim's hair.

"You're beautiful," Sim said softly as the kiss gradually faded, leaving them with their heads together in a pose that James found almost painfully intimate. "I love watching your hands when you work. I've wondered what they feel like, what it would be like to reach out and grab them, drag you over to the sofa, tell everyone else to go away, and who cares what they think of it all." James hadn't thought it possible for himself to be more flustered than he already was, but that had elevated him to all-new heights. He stuttered wordlessly, unsure how to respond. "How long have you felt this way about me?" Sim asked, his expression going suddenly curious. More stuttering, this time because James knew exactly how to answer, and was simply a touch embarrassed.

"Er… well," he started, convinced he couldn't possibly be honest, until he saw Sim's hopeful eyes. Maybe the truth wouldn't sound quite so devastatingly pathetic, James thought. "The idea for Man Lab came while I was trying to think of excuses to work with you on a more regular basis." Sim burst into delighted laughter at that, as his hands eased along James' shoulders to his back. "Intentionally buying a house in desperate need of professional help seemed a bit too obvious."

"So, it's been a while," he said. James nodded, a blush working its way across his cheeks. "No wonder you don't want to take things slowly. You're not alone in that." James took a breath to ask a question, but he was interrupted by a deep kiss, as if Sim were seeking to prove his interest. James felt like his knees were going to give out at the sensation of Sim's soft-yet-rough lips on his.

"What about you," he asked as soon as he caught his breath, "when did you know?"

"The day we met," Sim answered. "That shabby little coffee shop down the street… I don't know if it was the look of you all nervous about sharing your notebook, or how bright your eyes went every time you looked up at me, or the way your tea smelled like somebody who actually knows how to order correctly, but that day was all I needed, to be sure."

"You were wearing this, that day," James commented, tugging lightly at the hem of Sim's cable knit sweater. "I've always liked it especially."

"Was I?" the younger man asked. "Well, fitting as that seems, I don't think I'll need it tonight." With that, he pulled it over his head, taking his shirt along with. "What do you like?" he asked as he smoothed his hair back down. James shrugged, then shivered as he was drawn into the strong arms that had been, for years, protecting and guiding him as they helped give life to his dreams.

"It's… been a while, I'm out of practice, Simmy. I don't know."

"I love it when you call me that," Sim whispered, moving to nip and bite at James' earlobe which drew a delightful moan from the older man. "Always have. Could I make a suggestion to get us started?" James nodded, looking at Sim expectantly, the expression giving way to shock when the younger man forewent verbal suggestions and simply eased himself to his knees.

"Er, I do recall liking that," James said, reaching out to run his fingers through Sim's gloriously messy hair as he found himself being freed from his trousers by warm, eager fingers.

"Me too," Sim answered. "Although I haven't done it in years, and I also recall it being physically demanding, so… short but sweet, maybe?" With that, he leant forward, capturing James' cock in his mouth.

"That's all right with -- ahh! -- Christ, you're good at that, oh God Simmy…" James' words devolved into approving grunts as he struggled not to thrust, not to do anything that might hurt his partner. He was deeply grateful that the younger man had decided to give it a try. "Stop, stop," James said urgently, just a minute or two later, tugging himself gently away. Sim's expression was one of deep worry as he looked up.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His obvious concern melted into tentative amusement at James' sheepish look.

"I'd rather our first time take longer than that," James answered, verifying Sim's suspicion about the nature of the problem.

"Let's settle down a bit," he suggested in a tone that spoke of personal understanding of this particular desire. James nodded and the pair moved to the bed, both shedding clothing along the way. He took a minute to absorb his first look at Sim's body. Awkward was a truly fitting description, with sharp angles, knobby joints, and more than a couple scars that made James wonder what the proper waiting period was before he could ask about them.

"Gorgeous," he muttered, using the other word that sprang to mind along with awkward. Sim replied by straining up and pressing a kiss to James' shoulder.

"I agree," Sim replied, running his hand along James' arm, as if touching his partner's chest was too common, too boilerplate-sexual-encounter to be properly reverent. "So… we probably should have discussed this before we got this far, but I'm a bit of a switch," the younger man volunteered with a self-confident expression as he watched his hand move from James' arm to his side, working its way downward towards its eventual target. "I don't mind topping or bottoming exclusively, but that's where I'm happiest." He looked up at James, waiting to see how James would respond, if it would give him any clue about what to expect tonight.

The response he got completely stunned him. "I'm not familiar with those terms," James said in a tone of sort-of embarrassed confession. Sim blinked in surprise, then smiled with genuine amusement at both the honesty and the relative innocence of his companion. "I think I can infer from context, but can you explain?"

"Sure… yeah. I wasn't expecting to be asked that, is all." James turned a new shade of red, at that. He long knew that his sexual knowledge was more based on instinct than was probably healthy, but his lack of familiarity with terminology had never been an issue before now. Sim, of course, picked up on his apparent feeling of incompetence, for having had to ask.

"It's all right, James, I'm glad you asked. I just… I'm guessing you haven't done a lot of research on the subject, partaken of much gay erotica..?" James shook his head in reply, easing his body down to recline next to Sim. "All right… an analogy. In the BDSM community, the terms top, bottom, and switch are used to designate whether one likes to dominate, be dominated, or choose their role on more of a per-encounter basis. Likewise, in the gay community, it tends to mean whether you prefer being… well… the giver or the receiver. That's not the greatest explanation, mind, and I'm leaving out a lot of nuance that I'm not sure how to put into words."

"So you like…" James said, his hand drifting to gently stroke at the outer portion of his backside in a gesture of hesitant indication, "and… sort of, any way you can get it..?"

"Well, I use the term very generally, to say that I enjoy taking a turn at being on each side of the equation in most any scenario you can think up," Sim clarified, "and if ever there's anything you don't feel comfortable doing, tell me. I assure you that the only essential component here is you, James. But… um, well… yes, I do quite like doing that." James nodded, then fell silent for a moment. Sim watched his eyes shift around as he took in all of this information, processing it and deciding how to apply it all.

"I'm… unsure of what I am, then," James began. "I've only had experience, er, on top. My university roommate was very decidedly gay, and… well, I justified it in my mind by saying that I was just helping a friend, that my participation wasn't fundamentally different than being with a woman, and thus it wasn't a statement about my sexuality. I couldn't admit an attraction to men, even to myself, until a few years ago, when society started shifting more fully towards acceptance." James paused and looked up at his companion, uncertainty written all over his features. "I… some people have not responded favourably to that information, but it's the truth, Sim. I wasn't the person who could handle that kind of shunning. My family wasn't prepared to handle that news; they struggled with it for a while when I did finally tell them. And they are a large portion of my life. I just couldn't."

Sim was already rubbing James' arm in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, as James proactively tried to defend choices made so long ago. "I know I'm younger than you, James, but I'm not that much younger. I remember what it was like. I'm glad for those who were strong enough to face it head-on, but I wasn't even sure of your orientation until today. I've never operated under the impression that I've fallen in love with a flag-waving activist, and that's all right with me. I'm not upset that twenty-year-old James struggled with his orientation, and needed some way to justify his actions, and I'm not bothered that you're a little new to the research and experimentation. I'm proud of you for having the courage to reflect and discover who you are, and I'm glad you've shared a bit about your experience with your sexuality. We can start there for now, and if you'd like to branch out and trade places at any time, just let me know. Will that work for you?" James nodded.

"Why didn't you say it back?" James asked suddenly.

"What?" Sim asked, confused.

"You made me repeat what I said, what you overheard… you knew what it was and you made me say it again, but you didn't… I just realised and…" James stopped and looked up, finding dark eyes peering at him, overflowing with compassion and maybe just a little bit of regret.

"James…" Sim said, his tone conveying a sort of sadness as he pulled James into his arms. "I did, with my actions. I could see how nervous you were, and you know what they say about actions… but of course, I should know you need the words as well. Yes, I do love you. Very much, James… very much." He punctuated his words with a kiss to James' temple before claiming his lips again.

James allowed himself to be dragged fully into Sim's kiss, revelling in the sensation of simply being allowed to touch his chief engineer. Maybe they were rushing things, but neither of them was twenty anymore. They'd come to that age where one knows oneself and has the maturity, wisdom, and simple awareness to recognise when another person might be a good match.

"James, I… I don't know if… well, if it's too soon, just tell me, but I want you inside me." James marvelled at Sim's confidence. His quiet nature sometimes obscured the fact that this was someone who understood who he was, what he wanted, and wasn't afraid to ask. And, James knew, he could say no, and the rejection would be of simply one request one time, rather than of some deeper, intrinsic… whatever.

"Tonight?" James clarified. Sim nodded. "You've done that before?"

"That's how I know I like it, yes," Sim said with a teasing smile.

"Just making sure," James half-groused at his slightly sarcastic, dry-witted partner. "I'm… not feeling confident enough to try something that size," James continued, gesturing downward, "but I would like to try it myself, maybe sometime soon. Have you ever… for lack of better terminology, worked with a virgin?" Sim laughed outright at that.

"No, but I have been the virgin and I remember what helped. I'd like to start with a finger. Would it be all right to do that without warning? My first time, I was aroused and distracted by something else that felt good, and it was quite easy as a result." James nodded his consent, then pulled out of Sim's embrace to rummage in his bathroom cabinet for the necessary supplies.

James opened a cabinet, then a drawer, then suddenly leant his head back through the doorway to look at Sim. "You're not allergic to latex, are you?" he asked. Sim shook his head, bringing a supremely pleased smile to James' face as he returned to the bed, setting the lube and condoms on the bedside table.

"Four, James?" Sim asked with an eyebrow raised. "Little ambitious, maybe?"

"It's easy to put them away, and incredibly annoying to run and grab another if needed."

Sim laughed yet again, and James had the sneaking suspicion that if it were anyone else, he'd be irritated about being laughed at. But here, it just felt good to see and hear Sim taking delight in his quirks. "You are so ridiculously prepared, James… you're incredible. Now come here, let me show you how much lube I like."

"How do you know?" James asked. "You said it's been years."

Sim gave James an incredulous look. "Toy stores do exist," he said, as if that explained everything. And by the stunned look on James' face, he knew it did. "You're picturing it right now, aren't you? Wondering what that would feel like, what it looks like, how I use them… what it would be like if I brought my toy box with me next time?"

"Well I am now," James answered, suddenly panting just slightly.

Sim grinned. "Good." Feeling slightly impatient, he reached for a condom and moved towards James.

"Wait, wait," James said, causing Sim to hitch up and shoot him a confused look. "It's just, experience says I shouldn't start there, I mean…" James gestured with a finger, slightly helpless as his lack of vocabulary started to become more of a clear problem to him. Sim laughed suddenly, the kind of laugh that meant James had done something silly, but in an amusing way, not a laughed-at sort of way.

"Do you want to do that?" Sim asked. "You don't have to. My body can do it without prep work, and I know that part isn't to everyone's taste."

"I've done it before," James pointed out, "and I use condoms because it's respectful toward our bodies, not because I'm squeamish. You want to turn over for me?" Sim smiled again, and James wondered briefly if he could bottle up the feeling it caused, and hoard it for later. He watched as the dark-haired, shaggy man eased himself down onto his back, pulling one knee up and putting his foot flat on the bed. It wasn't what James expected, but this would work. Sim took James' hands in his own, so he could add a small amount of lube to one index finger.

"Sufficient," Sim explained, "you shouldn't feel much drag against your finger, but I like it a bit on the light side. Too much friction is uncomfortable for some, but for me, it's half the fun." With a shy smile, James reached out to touch his friend and colleague, first with his opposite hand, stroking the spot where his leg and arse meet, gently handling the more tender bits, watching with interest as Sim gasped and panted his appreciation. He made a mental note of things that worked especially well, repeating them as he diligently worked them both into a frenzy of desire, and when James felt ready to move on, he rested his lubed finger against Sim's entrance, only mildly surprised when it entered easily.

Sim groaned loudly at the sensation of James' finger pressing fully into him in one almost-smooth motion. "Simmy?" James asked. "You all right?" He wasn't certain if Sim's closed eyes and almost-frown were a good sign or not.

"Yeah, it's just been a while since… forgot how good it feels with… I mean… god, I'm such a girl sometimes." Sim ran an agitated hand through his hair as he shot James a slightly distressed look.

"What happened to embracing yourself as nature created you?" James asked with a wry chuckle. Sim laughed at the unexpected reference to the day's work, although his uncertain expression remained.

"All right, it feels so much better with someone you love, are you happy? Two fingers, please, James." Sim groaned again when James complied with his request, gently searching for that bundle of nerves he knew would be there, having been educated on this bit of anatomy by his prior partner. Sim suddenly arched his back, pressing his hips and shoulders hard against the bed, and James grinned at having found the right spot.

"Yes, right there," James muttered as he stroked the same spot several times, working Sim up to the edge before he stopped, letting Sim calm back down for a moment. Though it was clear that Sim's muscles were adept at this, James enjoyed spending a little time stretching his fingers apart anyway, feeling the way he reacted, enjoying the warm, tight sensation. "You feel so wonderful," James said. "I'm really not… my journalism experience hasn't exactly prepared me for this, so I'm unsure how to express it..."

"I can see your face, James," Sim said in between desperate little pants. "I don't need words to know your opinion. Are you ready to try the next step? Because I love having your fingers inside me, but I want to know what your cock feels like… how hard you can--" Sim stopped when he realised James was already scooting into position between his legs. Sim helpfully picked up his knees to make more space as James settled into what seemed like a workable position.

Midway through lining himself up, it struck James that this was his first opportunity, ever, to see a man's face in this moment. It's something he'd always liked about sleeping with women, but never had the chance with a man, as his prior partner favoured being on hands and knees. Somehow it seemed fitting that this particular first would be shared with Sim Oakley. Taking one last look to ensure the geometry was going to work, he dragged his eyes away from the gorgeous arse before him, to Sim's face, watching the way his eyes grew wide and his hands scrambled to hold onto the sheets, as James opened him fully for the first time.

Sim reached out to try to grab the man who was, irritatingly in his opinion, politely holding still so as to let him adjust to the stretch. "You really don't have to move this slow, James, please," Sim muttered, rocking his own hips to create some thrusting motion.

To his surprise, instead of thrusting, James fixed him with a sort of suspicious look. "How big are your toys?" James asked. Sim groaned, this time a sound of dismay as he threw one arm over his face in intense frustration.

"Do we really have to have this conversation right now?" he asked, then uncovered his face to look back up at James. His frustration gave way to compassion almost instantly when he saw the deep insecurity that had come over his partner. "Yes, we do," he answered his own question as he reached one hand out to grasp James' in a comforting gesture. "All right. James, it's not… I hope you realise how many deeply embarrassing moments I endure for your sake, purely as an expression of love. It's not the size of the toys. Without having made exact comparisons, I think they're all smaller than you. That's not the only factor affecting the muscles' ability to do this easily, but also, um… timing of use is a factor." Sim blew out another frustrated sigh as he rubbed at his temple. "Can we just not talk about what's in my glove compartment, right now?"

James gave a surprised laugh as his expression shifted to one of interest. "That… I… tell me more." Sim made a defeated little sound, but didn't continue. James took the initiative to push fully into his partner's body, slowly enough to stop if requested, but with an unrelenting pressure that made Sim groan happily. He eased himself nearly all the way out and did it again before stilling at his previous shallow depth. "Tell me, and I'll do that again."

"Oh fuck James, all right, just… all the way, please? Can you do that, just hold it right there?"

James' determined look gave way to a devious smile as he complied with the request, provoking a string of muttered curses from his partner. "Have you been playing while you're supposed to be working, Simmy?" Unsurprisingly, the younger man nodded, his face turning an interesting shade of pink. "What do you think about when you do that? What's the fantasy that goes along with that game?"

"Sometimes, I -- " Sim stopped, looking up uncomfortably at James, who gave an encouraging rock with his hips. "You," the younger man admitted. "You're the fantasy… imagining that you've requested it, in preparation for, well… this. Usually, everyone leaves and I can take a few minutes to… well, prepare to drive home in that state. Sit on the sofa, adjust to the sensation, and so on. That's why I stood quietly over by the stairs when I saw you were still there. Being sure I had caught my breath sufficiently, because you were standing right next to my sketchbook and I was afraid I'd give myself away if I wasn't careful. That's how I heard what you said."

"You had a toy up your arse the first time I told you I love you?" James asked as he folded this new information together with his prior knowledge of how the evening had unfolded.

Sim made a nervous sound. "You have no idea the willpower it took to ask you to repeat yourself, instead of flinging myself onto hands and knees right then and there."

James laughed at that, shaking his whole body momentarily before he gasped with a delighted expression. "You sound like the boiler when I do that!" he said with a grin, wiggling his hips in a manner to mimic the movement caused by laughter. It drew a lustful whimper from Sim.

"Boiler?" Sim asked in between whines. "Wait, James, seriously, I cannot have sex and think about boiler repair at the same time. Give me a minute. When did it make a high-pitched noise?"

"Today at the workshop," James answered. "Not long before you made your presence known."

Sim shook his head. "System's not been brought online yet. It's still on my to-do list to get it prepared for the season."

James frowned, then lit up again just as Sim groaned, having both got to the same conclusion at the same time. "Sitting on the sofa," they both said over top of one another. "I did hear you!"

"You probably did hear me," Sim confirmed. His blush deepened as he grasped just how close he had been to being caught doing something extremely inappropriate at work, even if it would have been after hours, by a receptive individual. It might not have worked out that way, just as easily.

"And I would like to see your reaction to it, as well, next time," James added, running reverent hands over Sim's chest as he carefully danced around the sensitive nipples just to watch Sim squirm around searching for exactly the touch James was avoiding. After a moment's teasing, James let Sim win, revelling in the shuddery gasp as his thumbs stroked more directly at the eager nubs. "What happened next?" James asked, provoking a slightly confused look from the well-distracted man. "You were standing in the lab, a hair's breadth from your playtime being found out, making me repeat myself and… and then what happened?"

"You asked me to come home with you, and I had to figure out what the hell to do with the plug," Sim answered. "Given the rough state of your road, I couldn't wait until we got here."

"Is that why you had to stop for petrol on the way, to avoid going cross-eyed and driving into my neighbour's garden fence?" James asked, even though he already knew the answer before Sim nodded. "Tomorrow, I want you to ride with me. I want to see your reaction." James punctuated his request with a forceful hip movement, easing himself nearly out and then fully in again, thoroughly enjoying the way Sim's eyes fluttered shut and he grabbed desperately at the bedding with an appreciative groan. This time, James didn’t stop, didn't ask any new questions, didn't do anything but adjust his angle until Sim's positive response grew into enthusiastic moans of a truly startling volume. James had never developed a specific fondness for this particular act, never developed a love for anything specific in the time he'd spent experimenting with his roommate. But this could quickly become his favourite just based on Sim's response, he decided.

James, who'd been contemplating whether he was all right with tonight lasting an embarrassingly short time, was caught off guard when Sim yanked at his arms, pulling him down. He allowed himself to be pulled on top of his partner, although with a grunt of dismay when he slipped out of Sim's body. "It's all right," Sim said quickly. "I need you close, is that all right?" James nodded. He wasn't sure about this, but when Sim's hands began to roam his back, and he could still thrust gently, sliding his cock along the length of Sim's own, he decided it was a good plan after all. So it was a surprise when, while he was fully involved in kissing Sim thoroughly and rubbing their delicate bits together with tantalising slowness, suddenly his own body was being gently but very decidedly occupied. He broke off the kiss to rest his nose on Sim's shoulder with what he was sure was a very unmanly sound at the new sensation.

"I don't suppose there's any possibility that, unlike toothbrushes, there's nothing particularly unhygienic about sharing sex toys?" James asked. Sim kissed and nipped at his ear in response as he continued working his way inside his partner's body.

"I'll get you one tomorrow," Sim answered. "Not getting dressed and going downstairs right now, anyway. And I'll bring my toy box, but maybe you'd like to be the one in the passenger seat, instead?"

"Maybe," James muttered, his bright eyes gone round and unfocused at the thought. "How are you going to know what size to get?"

Sim wiggled his finger, provoking a moan of approval. "Oh, I think I can guess," he said with a grin. "Now where is that…" he muttered to himself, prodding gently with his fingertip until suddenly James' muscles tensed and he shoved his arms roughly under Sim in a sort of pincer movement, one foot forcing its way around the back of Sim's knee, with a loud groan that started out patently pornographic but ended on a more frustrated note as the unexpected motion made Sim stop all teasing in favor of stilling James' body by hugging him tightly. "All right, prostate's in working order," Sim said with a surprised sort of smile. "Was that a good response?" The vigorous nod left no room for uncertainty about that one.

"Can you do it again?" James might have been ashamed at his plaintive tone, but the sensation Sim had just created was so deliciously pleasing, that its short duration left him feeling deeply unfulfilled in a way he'd never known possible. He'd always been the sort of person who could perfectly well handle himself without depending on anyone else, but suddenly he understood what it felt like to desperately need someone's attentions, because right now, he was in dire need of Sim's.

"Do you think you can be a little more still this time?" Sim asked, softening the perhaps-pointed question with a trail of kisses along James' neck. "I love how responsive you are; you have no idea how fantastic it is just to watch you, James, but, it's just, delicate bits, flailing limbs, it can be a dangerous combination." James was instantly up on his elbows, looking down into his partner's enchanting eyes with a painfully serious expression.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, even though Sim was already shaking his head in the negative. "I didn't expect it to feel like… you're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"Nearly, but you nearly got me off, too, so," Sim shrugged with a smile as he searched for words, "that really could have gone either way. Do you need to hold onto me?" James nodded as he sank back down onto his lover's body, adjusting himself until his arms felt comfortably wrapped around Sim. Sim kept one arm snugly around James, just in case, while his finger resumed the search for its target.

A sharp cry alerted Sim to his success, and he rubbed the sensitive organ firmly, then gently, adjusting this way and that until he discovered what James seemed to like best. He wasn't entirely sure how to judge that, but loud noises combined with hip movements that slid their cocks alongside one another in a quite thrilling manner, were probably good indicators, Sim decided. Partly in an effort to make the older man stop moaning so loudly in his ear, Sim kissed him incessantly. After a few more moments, James pulled back and rested his forehead again near Sim's ear.

"Getting too close," James said in between panting.

"Isn't that the point?" Sim asked.

"Don't you want me to go back to…" James asked, giving him a perplexed look. Sim slowed his motions, realising just how completely their mutual understanding of one another failed to transfer to the bedroom.

"The absolute pinnacle of sexual experience for me is not the act; it's the person," he said, a little cautiously. "If you want to do that again I'd like that, but you're the vital bit, James, it's always been you. How we choose to enjoy our bodies together, that's merely details." Sim waited a moment, and when his partner didn't respond, he pressed further. "Do you want me to continue fucking you with my finger, James? Is this how you want to come?" The soft moan of desire was all Sim needed to hear. He picked up the pace again, revelling in the feeling of James squirming harder against him.

Sim had intended to try two fingers at some point, but this was working so beautifully that he elected to stay the course. Another time, they could explore more. James was very close, he knew. He could feel it in the way the arms around him were starting to alternate between tension and relaxation, the way James' thrusts were getting more ragged and uncoordinated, the way his kisses were starting to fall apart into little nips of Sim's lower lip… the way he couldn't even keep his eyes open anymore. Sim smiled as he felt the first shudder wash over his partner, felt the way the older man tried to burrow into him. James held on tight and his hips stilled, giving Sim ample opportunity to take in the sensation of James' length pulsing, of a truly strange warm sensation that spilt over his skin.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," Sim muttered, feeling strangely emotional over the shared experience. Sim stroked one hand up and down the length of James' back, soothing the nerves that he'd taken such delight in fraying all evening.

"Your turn?" James asked after a moment. "What do you want?"

Sim didn't have to give any consideration at all to that. "I want to feel your hand on me." James happily obliged, slipping off Sim to lay alongside him as one hand came around Sim's cock. Sim's eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. It was better than he could have imagined, James' rough, capable fingers working at his body with a confidence borne of personal experience with similar equipment, Sim's need being both sated and stoked by the strength and rough texture that so often tempted him when they worked together. This really wasn't going to take long, he knew, and he let it happen. Natural beauty, and all. Before Sim quite expected it, he felt the familiar sensation welling up from somewhere deep within his nervous system, and the arm wrapped around James squeezed the older man, hard enough that James rolled partially onto Sim's body. Sim took advantage of that by kissing him, an expression of desire as much as a strategy to muffle his own cry of relieved pleasure at his release. Almost immediately after, both men seemed to melt into one another, deeply relaxed by their shared experience.

James' arms both came around Sim, one shoved under his back and the other over his chest, as one leg crept over his legs. "Mine," he muttered, to his own apparent surprise, Sim observed as the older man's eyes went wide, then squeezed shut in an expression of utter exasperation.

"Yours" Sim answered with a nod. He had the sneaking suspicion that he'd just made a long-term, exclusive commitment to James as… a dating partner? Sim didn't have words for it, not any that were sufficient to describe the way he felt towards the gorgeous, complicated tangle of brilliance, nurturing, and masculinity that was… erm… cuddling him rather ferociously. He noticed suddenly that James was staring at him with an expression of uncertainty, as if he wasn't sure Sim understood him, wasn't sure of… well, anything. "Yours," Sim repeated, then turned and nipped possessively at James' lip. "Mine," he said in between nips, hoping that James understood.

Sim felt his sweet friend nod in response. "Yours," came the muttered response.

\--------

"You know, James," Sim said as he sipped his breakfast tea, "we could move the pool table here. We can certainly find other projects with which to fill it, if they let us do another series. Or build another one for ourselves."

James gave him an incredulous look. "And where would we put it?" Sim glanced around, seeming to notice for the first time how carefully James had made use of the limited space in his home.

"Well…" Sim said, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. "Is there a piece of furniture here that you're not particularly attached to? Maybe something you've always wanted to replace with a custom design, that you and your chief engineer might be able to build together?"

James' eyes brightened with delight at the thought of crafting a piece of furniture, creating a memory here, privately, just for them to share. It wouldn't be quite the same as their Man Lab work, but it quickly occurred to James that in the privacy of his own shed, they could construct a purpose-designed piece based on their measurements, without having to explain it away to the rest of the team. He grinned as the idea took root in his mind. "You know," James said, "I've always wanted a dining table that was designed with a taller user in mind…"

Sim sauntered over to the dining table and bent over it. Even fully clothed, the view made James' mouth go dry as it fell open. The image spread before him was absolutely beyond even the best fantasy, and he found the need to hold onto the edge of the nearby counter. The need for assistance only got worse when Sim arched his back, propping himself on his elbows, and twisted around to peer over his shoulder at James, who by this point could only stand there wishing for the power to instantly vanish the younger man's clothing. "I see what you mean, James, it's a little bit short. Although I think…" he said, wiggling his bottom slightly. "Yes, I think it will work as a temporary measure until we can construct a replacement." James finally got his balance back, at least enough to step over to the table and lay his hands on Sim's teasing arse.

"I think we can make do for a little while," he agreed, leaning down for a kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, that edit went faster than expected.

James and Sim stood by the faux garden they'd constructed outside the lab for their game theory experiment, not entirely sure what to do next. Both were soaked through with beer, an expected outcome of the experiment, which was why they'd both brought extra clothes today. Both were shivering ferociously, the moisture easily sweeping their body heat away into the cool, crisp air of an autumn afternoon. That, they hadn't quite counted on. There was a shower in the lab, of course. If there hadn't been, they would have filmed this in the producer's back garden across town. But what they hadn't quite considered was that there was only one shower, and at least four of them needed it. Not just James and Sim, both utterly drenched in beer, but producer Tom and assistant Rory were soaked, and everyone else involved in filming needed to at least clean up enough that they wouldn't get arrested for drink driving if any of them managed to get pulled over on the way home from work.

"Go," Sim said, gesturing towards James.

"I'm the boss, I go last," James answered in reply, which made Sim laugh briefly.

"James, you're shivering so hard that it sounded like you said every word twice," Sim chided. "You can't even make sense of sixty percent! You've got to warm up before you end up in hospital with hypothermia."

Their chivalrous debate was interrupted by a groan from Tom, the show's producer who'd gotten stuck assisting with the experiment. "Would you both just go? It'll save time and hot water, and we all know you're together, anyway. It was fun watching you pretend otherwise at first, but now you're just annoying me." James and Sim froze, well, as best they could, given how hard both were shivering, and stared at each other, then glanced around at the other crew who'd been supervising the experiment. None looked remotely surprised.

"You're really not that subtle," associate producer Helen helpfully pitched in.

James gave a stuttering sigh and, after glancing at Sim and tilting his head to point toward the building, he headed for the shower in the lab. Intended more for safety in the event of a workplace accident, the lab shower wasn't exactly luxurious. But it was roomy enough for two, something Sim became grateful for when he realised just how badly James was handling the cold. He'd had to hold James up outside, while Rory helped them both off with their shoes so they wouldn't track muddy beer into the lab. But he thought James would improve once they were inside, with the heat running. James hadn't.

"You really aren't good with this cold weather lark, are you," Sim muttered as he found himself trying to peel off clothing and turn on the shower while supporting the older man's trembling body. James merely grunted in something that sounded like agreement. After a minute, Sim gave up and simply turned on the water as they stood fully clothed under the shower head. The initial burst of water was cool, but not overly so against their chilled skin. It still made James yelp, which made Tom yell that they'd best not be having sex in the shower, which made Sim nearly drop James as he doubled over with laughter.

A few moments later, the water warmed until, to Sim's overly chilled skin, it felt like the epitome of luxury. It only took a few seconds before he thawed enough to do something besides shiver. "Clothes off, please," Sim said to James as he began wrestling off his own soaked shirt. Tossing the wet shirt into the corner, he turned to take James' shirt -- and found his partner standing directly under the spray, arms wrapped around himself as if still too cold to move. "Oh, James…" he muttered as he grabbed the man's shirt and started to peel it upward. "Come on, love, at least help me here." He continued tugging, halfway considering the option of calling for someone to bring a pair of scissors, when James finally moved to cooperate. The shirt removed, Sim finally felt like he could step closer and wrap his arms around his thermally-traumatised companion.

"I don't know if you need heat, touch, or counselling for post-alcoholic stress syndrome," Sim muttered, provoking a laugh from his treasured partner.

"I'm going to use that in filming later," James responded, his first verbal response since they came inside.

Sim beamed up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "There you are. Much as I enjoy you in skin-tight clothing and stinking to high heaven of beer, can we get your jeans off, as well? Tom and Rory are waiting for the shower, too."

"Don't think I have the strength," James admitted. Sim nodded. Much as he wanted to turn this situation into an off-colour joke of some sort, he knew that James' response indicated a huge amount of trust, and roughly an equal amount of need. Making mistakes, being wrong, and looking silly were things James had no problem with doing in front of others, as evidenced by his willingness to do it on camera, for the entire planet to see. Weakness, though… that was something only to be admitted in quiet moments, preferably alone, and even more preferably never.

With movements that spoke of experience, Sim's fingers found their way to James' jeans, skillfully freeing the button from its buttonhole before undoing the zip. After a few moments of serious effort, both pairs of jeans lay inside-out in the corner with pants tangled in them, and Sim found James wrapped around him, apparently feeling up to moving now that he was free of his beer-soaked bindings. He took the opportunity to let his hands glide along the expanse of James' back, the warm water helping his fingers skitter from muscled shoulders to the curves of his bottom and back. James shivered at the touch and Sim grinned, knowing how much his partner tended to like it when he could send chills up his spine.

James, for his part, returned the favour by stroking his hands along Sim's chest, teasing for only a second before going straight for the little nubs that he knew would very quickly work Sim into a frenzy. Sim tried desperately to swallow a groan at the sensation. "Ohh, not fair," he said softly as his hips involuntarily pressed into James, hands automatically reaching down to his partner's arse to help things along.

James growled lightly and returned the gesture, feeling himself go a little harder in response to Sim's quickly firming warmth.

"Tom said we're not allowed to have sex in here," Sim muttered wistfully, his hands easing back up to safer territory above James' waist.

"Can't set the pizza oven door on fire, can't use cracked glassware, now I can't even have sex with one of my employees in the workplace," James groused. "This boss business isn't working out like I thought it would." James smiled at Sim's big, hearty laugh. "When we get home?" James suggested as he forced himself to be a good boy and keep his hands above the waist. He couldn't help but steal a kiss while Sim was busy being distracted by thoughts of what they could do once they got home.

Sim returned the favour immediately, and James allowed himself to be drawn into his arms. "Love your hair like this," he muttered in between increasingly arousing kisses.

Sim chuckled. "What, wet and stringy and plastered to my head?"

"Wet, anyway," James admitted as he plucked at the unruly curls. "Didn't really think about it any further."

"Mmm, maybe we should shower together more often if you've developed an interest." James shifted uncomfortably at that statement, making Sim laugh. "All right, how long has it been?"

"Paradise in Plasticine..?" James offered with a look of equal parts sheepishness and adoration.

"Really?" Sim laughed more than said. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"You were swearing at me quite a lot," James reminded him, taking Sim back to the first time he'd been soaked through and nearly frozen as a result of one of James' projects.

"Yes, well, I didn't know how to deal with it back then," Sim commented. "Now, I know, and you're definitely in for it when we get home," he muttered with a grin that James felt more than saw as he leaned in for another kiss. That might have been a mistake, James realised when somebody pounded on the bathroom door a few moments later, and they were trapped in an endless cycle of trading kisses. Breaking apart just enough to rest their foreheads against one another, the pair worked at catching their breath and maybe getting out of the shower before it ran cold.

"Maybe if we take our time getting dressed, the hot water will have enough time to regenerate and they won't shout at us," Sim suggested with a grin, throwing one towel over his shoulder and wrapping himself in the other. James smiled when he caught on what Sim had in mind, holding his arms out this way and that to make it easier for Sim to dry him off. He'd warmed up, but the cold and shivering had left him with aching muscles and sore bones, and not having to bend over to dry his own legs was about the best thing he could imagine right now.

"I'm going to have to take care of you tonight, aren't I, old man?" Sim asked, that teasing grin spreading across his face in a way that always made James want to bend him over and replace the grin with an expression that communicated a whole different sort of happiness. Sim didn't miss the fact that James' body responded favourably to the attention, gently stroking him with the towel under the guise of drying him. "I'll take care of that, too," Sim said, sending a shiver through James' body at the thought. The older man pulled Sim's towel away from his waist and began returning the favour, leaving his unkempt hair fluffy after a vigorous rub-down, then wrapping the towel around Sim's back and using it to pull their bodies together. James' hips involuntarily sought friction, making them both sigh.

"That's really not helping with the goal of looking presentable, is it," James said, more than asked. Sim answered by standing on his toes to leave chaste kisses across his lover's forehead as he dried James' hair, then snickering as he tried to smooth it back down.

"Dry enough to get dressed, now?" Sim asked, prompting James to pat at his skin here and there, before giving a quick nod. He could almost certainly dress himself now that he'd thawed, but Sim not being one to leave a job half-done, he picked up James' spare t-shirt and held it up so all James had to do was allow himself to be dressed. Although it came with a grumble of "not a child," James made no effort to conceal the amused grin as he let Sim tug clothes onto his body. Before Sim got a chance to dress, James grabbed him in a hug, pressing his jeans against his partner's sensitive bits just for the joy of hearing him squeak in response to the tantalising friction. "When we get home," Sim reminded him, kissing James chastely before pushing him gently back.

A moment later, the two emerged from the bathroom, single-file as they had to dodge Rory who was already shoving his way in. James rolled his eyes, but before he could fire off a snarky remark, Sim was dragging him to the lab's living room, pointing him at the sofa. It did look good, he decided, so he took up residence on it after a brief sidestep to grab one of his books from a nearby shelf. A few moments later, he was interrupted by Sim covering him with the maroon lap blanket from his office, and then another few minutes after that, another interruption came, this time in the form of a cup of tea being pressed into his hands.

"You're still quite cold," Sim pointed out, heading off James' forthcoming irritation. He hated interruptions while he was reading, even for tea. But once it had been pointed out, he noticed that while he wasn't shivering, he wasn't exactly comfortable either, and his aching muscles were only feeling more stiff and sore. So he didn't complain about the interruptions.

He did, however, speak up when Sim sat next to him and tried to pull James nearly in his lap. "Hey!" he said, his tone both surprised and unnerved as he tried to scoot away from the uninvited cuddle.

Sim gave an incredulous laugh. "We've had a shower together in the presence of half the staff, and you're worried about this?" James frowned but stopped trying to push away, realising that Sim was right. Everyone in the building was well aware that they'd just spent fifteen very naked minutes together, directly after admitting that yes, they were romantically involved with one another. There was no longer a purpose to the habit of secrecy. James sighed quietly but allowed himself to be tugged into a reclining position, leaning his back against the man whose arms were wrapped securely around his middle. Combined with the warm mug in his hands and the blanket across his legs, he was starting to finally exceed the bare minimum goal of "thawed out" and beginning to move into comfortable territory.

James abandoned reading and allowed himself to be lulled into a state of mindless relaxation, unfocused eyes not particularly processing the bustle of people setting up the next film shot as he simply allowed warmth to seep back into his body. This had been a good idea, finding a visual way to explore and explain a mathematical theory to their viewers, but if he'd thought it through more carefully, they would have done it at the height of the summer heat wave rather than filing it in the "easy" category and putting it off for later in the filming schedule. The sudden change in ambient noise as Rory turned off the shower water brought James back to more full awareness of his surroundings -- or rather, more full awareness of the hands stroking his ribs.

Anyone else would have provoked an instant reaction by touching him like this; James was the sort of person for whom tickling often was perceived as a type of pain, in the same way that a very serious itch can feel like pain. Sim being Sim, however, had diligently learned how to touch James' ribs without triggering such a reaction, a skill which was very appreciated when his aching bones decided to remind him of his foolishness in allowing Clarkson and Hammond to talk him into attempting to ride a horse. The resulting broken ribs after being thrown from said horse, combined with his own stubborn his own refusal to rest and heal after it happened, meant the old injury tended to cause him pain from time to time. James, of the opinion that his body was overreacting, found himself frustrated and irritable at the aches. Sim merely took it as an invitation to fawn over him, learning how to touch his body in ways that interrupted his nerves' pain signals, soothing his grumpy mood and replacing it with a sort of mushy happiness that James loved far more than he let on.

Except today, he was running low on stubbornness, having shivered most of it away, he supposed. Instead of containing his enjoyment within, he found himself leaning into Sim's touch, stretching his body to give better access to the old injury, and dear lord, was that a hum of contentment? He could tell by his producer's amused grin that not only was it exactly that, but the sound had come from James. It made him feel decidedly less than manly, but when James tried to contain himself all that happened was that the next hum turned into an even more silly sound, and he quickly came to the conclusion that he'd shivered away the energy needed to care about any of this.

Which was how he ended up reclining against Sim's chest, tilted mostly onto his good side with his arm stretched up to rest against Sim's shoulder, providing ample access to the injured area. His eyes drifted closed as he savoured the feeling his lover's hands running in broad strokes across his ribs, working systematically from his chest to his back, over and over. James didn't even open his eyes when he heard the bathroom door open, followed by Rory's disgusted grunt. Sim's other hand had found its way to James' hair, brushing mindlessly through it, drawing him to the point where every news network on the planet could have been there doing an in-depth story on their relationship and James wouldn't have cared.

"Sickeningly adorable, isn't it," Producer Tom said, more than asked, in response to Rory's irritation.

"I am sure that I don't look half that good with my girlfriend," came the response from the youngest of their crew.

Sim's laugh jostled James, causing him to tighten his grip on his human recliner. "If how it looks to spectators matters, that's a sign that you might be dating the wrong person," Sim said in response to the uninvited critique. James smiled at Sim's knack for conveying wisdom so casually. Over the years they'd worked together, he'd taken a special interest in sharing his own life lessons with the young people on the team.

This, James realised, was the deeper purpose of Man Lab… it wasn't about showing people how to think, how to do, how to create. It was about transferring intelligence by conduction, the life of one person contacting that of another and creating lasting change. He could have let that thought go a while longer, get all serious and sentimental about it all, but Sim's gentle hands dragged James back to that place of quiet relaxation, and he gave in to the temptation to simply be. Deep thought could wait just a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end of the story, but the outtakes I wrote and then cast aside will also be posted. I'm taking a little time to clean them up and make sure they, you know, make sense and stuff, before I let them go live. Some are just ways of completing the story that I didn't like as much, and others were perilously close to devolving into a hot mess. And at least one is just PWP with some plot wedged into the corners just to make me feel better about it. But whatever.


	17. Outtake 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, outtakes. Not sure how many there are (it's term paper week, my files are... well, piles). This one is set after the filming of the Man Lab "how to defuse a WWII bomb" segment. I wrote a lot of "how the secret comes out" chapters before I found the right one for this story. It's not a very good ending because I set it aside when I figured out this wasn't the right approach, and it's pretty unimpressive writing overall. But outtakes were requested, and who knows, maybe it'll inspire someone (even if it just inspires others to write better than this drivel!)

James glowered with anger at his predicament as he sat in the van, waiting. Sim hadn't been at today's filming of James' bomb-disarming feat, but he'd lent his van for them to use, while he was in the lab working on the woodwork for the bar they'd build next week. After the bomb had exploded practically in his face and the fall had done in his knee, they'd loaded him up in it for the drive back to the lab. The director had ordered him to just stay in the van and rest while they sent Sim out to drive him home. Which didn't improve his mood, already soured by the whole "ahh, we didn't know there was a backup fuse" story. Bull. Shit. The only explosive in the bomb was a theatrical one that would explode when triggered remotely. Somebody with an itchy trigger finger had hit the button before he'd gotten far enough away from it. It would be amusing for the viewers, he had to admit, but he could have done without the searing pain of being thrown to the ground.

At least the process of taking James home wasn't going to be a burden. Due to the intense filming schedule, and the fact that James lived a good hour closer to the lab than did Sim, the younger man had set up housekeeping temporarily in James' spare room, and they'd been commuting to work together.

All of which already had James on edge. Not only was he down by a place to put a drunk friend after an exuberant night out, but he didn't even want to enjoy his usual quantity of beer for fear of what he might admit to, when he got home and found the younger man there. Or worse, for fear of what he might do if they both staggered home together, a little too unbalanced to make it without leaning on one another, and a little too relaxed to react well in that situation. The idea of wrapping his arms around Sim and easing him against the wall by the front door, the gentle handling juxtaposed with the sensation of being pinned against the wall as James kissed him so wonderfully sweetly… oh good lord, this line of thought wasn't helping anything. And now he had to worry about the fact that Sim would almost certainly fuss over his injury, at least at a cursory level. The attention definitely wasn't going to help his problem.

"So they blew you up?" Sim asked with a wry grin as he hopped into the driver's seat a few minutes after they'd gotten back to the lab. James grumbled in reply. "That bad, eh? All right, let's get you home."

Even though James had tried to be silently surly, they'd started out discussing dinner (Greek takeout, tonight) and ended up debating which keg to buy for the upcoming bar project. The conversation carried them through picking up dinner and getting home, by which point James had almost forgotten his number-one concern. Until Sim hopped out and ran around to the other door, to help him out, exactly as he'd feared. The mere thought of Sim wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling James against him, all warm and solidly built, helping him inside and easing his injured body onto the sofa so Sim could peel his trouser leg back and take a look at the damage… James shifted in his seat. How could he ever endure this without giving himself away? Was that even possible? Sim opened the door and slipped an arm around James without a second thought, and James was forced to accept that he was about to find out.

Distantly, James heard himself moan softly as he allowed himself to be eased into a standing position. "Bad?" Sim asked. James hesitated to answer for just a second, torn between wanting simple honesty and wanting to protect Sim from his stupid heart. "Good?" Sim asked. James' heart skipped at least two beats, maybe more, and he felt his knees try to give out under him from the sheer shock of that question.

No. No, it was not possible to endure this without giving himself away. James managed to make some kind of strangled sound of dismay, as his brain struggled through a crash and reboot cycle. He felt his arm squeezing Sim in what may or may not have been a nonverbal answer to Sim's question.

"Good, then?" Sim asked, still sounding unsure of his guess. James sighed at the repeat question. "All right," Sim muttered as he pulled James away from the van, preparing for the hobble up the front walk. "It's all right, James. Let's get inside."

James wasn't sure what Sim meant, that it was all right, but he allowed the younger man to offer support as his injured left knee kept trying to collapse under his weight. Together, they eased James' body onto the sofa before Sim doubled back to grab dinner. James was seated sideways on the sofa, to properly support himself, and Sim eased onto the armchair nearby. "It really is all right if the answer was yes, outside," Sim said. "It's all right if not, too, although I admit I say that with a bit of a conflict of interest."

That statement got James to drag his eyes from his dinner-in-a-box, to Sim's face. Sim smiled gently at his confused expression. "Conflict of interest?" James asked.

Sim nodded. "Bit. Just a tiny little… quite a large conflict of interest." As he talked, James watched the blush creep over his skin. He wasn't sure if he could trust himself to accurately interpret Sim's words, but the pink tone of his cheeks definitely supported James' conclusions. "Was that what that sound meant?" Sim asked, pressing gently. "Good, rather than bad?" James gave in, and nodded. "Would you like more?"

James frowned, thinking harder than he felt like he'd ever thought in his life. "That's an option?" he asked.

"If you weren't so badly injured, I'd show you just how much of an option it is," Sim answered with a sheepish chuckle. James simply stared at him, mouth open in shock. Sim grinned, and stood up, gesturing that James should scoot away from the end of the sofa. He did, and Sim sat down, allowing James to lean back and rest his back somewhat awkwardly against Sim's body as Sim sat in the conventional manner. "Finish your dinner," Sim instructed gently, "and then I'll find a way to show you how all right it all is, that won't aggravate your knee."

Keeping his promise, once they'd finished eating, he pulled James against his chest, wrapping two strong arms around him, and they spent the evening watching television. It wasn't at all the way James pictured spending a first few hours together after making such a revelation. Not that he'd allowed himself to picture it too much, but it had always involved clothes practically flying off in all directions, as he and the object of his affection set out to singlehandedly… er, double-handedly?.. improve condom manufacturer profits.

This was better, he decided. Sure, the other way was fun, but there was something to be said for the way Sim's hands were massaging his shoulders and neck, the way he periodically leaned over to press a chaste, almost embarrassed kiss to James' cheek, near his ear. James, deciding this wasn't in any way a fair arrangement, leaned and twisted to face Sim, pressing an equally chaste kiss to his lips. Sim quickly adjusted to this new situation, using one arm to support James' awkward leaning position and the other to brush his hair back from his face so Sim could indulge him in his obvious preference for more kisses.

"You need a shower before bed," Sim muttered as the current programme -- and their childlike make-out session -- drew to an end. James nodded his agreement. "You need help with that?"

James chuckled. "If I say yes, I know what will happen, and it won't involve getting clean." Sim laughed at that, a big, hearty laugh that made James grin as he held on for dear life.

"Do you mind if I sit in your bedroom, just in case?" James pretended to mull that idea over, then agreed and allowed Sim to help him up the stairs and all the way into the loo before the younger man backed out and left him to shower in peace.

James emerged feeling calm and relaxed, as well as clean -- and just a bit shocked by the sight of a pyjama-clad Sim sitting in his bed, legs under the blankets as if he were just waiting for James so they could go to bed. As if he belonged here. Maybe he did, James thought idly as he eased himself under the covers on the other side of the bed.

"Are you one of those who's comfortable being touched in bed, or do you hate it?" Sim asked as he turned the bedside lamp off. James laughed gently at that. All of his prior relationships as an adult had involved using the bed very quickly on, but sharing the bed took quite a bit longer, long enough to have figured this stuff out without asking. Sim's question reminded him that he was doing it backwards this time.

"It's variable," James answered. "I'm comfortable with it tonight." Before he could respond further, Sim's arm came across his chest, pulling him close. James shivered as the sudden warmth made him aware of just how chilly it always was to sleep alone. Maybe his sleeping preference wasn't as variable as he'd thought.


	18. Action Man Outtake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this bit, they're already in a relationship -- this later became the beer-game-theory epilogue, whatever I called it. I like it, but it just didn't work as intended, with the Action Man filming as its setting. If you were hoping for mature-rated outtakes, this isn't it. But the next one will be, since that's all I'm down to, after this.

As James ran away from the lit fuse on the firework-turned-rocket, he noticed he was leading the way, something which should not be, given that Sim was both younger and fitter than he. James glanced to ensure Sim was actually on his feet and moving, then proceeded to the safety zone and turned fully -- to see Sim awkwardly running in a way that made James think of the way Richard Hammond tended to walk after a motorbike ride through the rain, his legs left aching from the cold water and irritated by wet clothing. Something was wrong. James took in the artificially blank expression on Sim's face that confirmed his suspicions, then forced himself to focus on the firework they were testing. They had a spare, but not needing a second take was the goal here, so he carefully waited until Action Man landed (in a gloriously awful splat at their feet) and the cameras were turned off.

"What happened?" James asked, nodding in the direction of the launch site.

"Too much powder in the ejection module," Sim answered, explaining the unexpectedly large explosion that sent Action Man plummeting to his death. James rolled his eyes.

"I figured that out. I mean, what happened that you could barely run?"

Sim frowned slightly, a look that might have come across as irritation with being asked an annoying question, but James knew Sim well enough to recognise concealed pain when he saw it. "Put my foot in a hole, first thing when we started running. Twisted my ankle a bit." James wordlessly pointed at the van and Sim made his way carefully to it. The 10-yard walk drew a couple small sounds of pain from him, now that he didn't have to conceal it from the cameras.

"Shoe off," James requested as he grabbed the Irritating Red Box, as he'd taken to calling the first aid kit years ago. Not that James minded the box itself, or the preparedness it demonstrated, but the sense of weakness he felt when it was fetched for him provoked him to irrational irritation. Sitting on the floor of the cargo van next to Sim, James ignored the team buzzing about, getting set up for the next bit, equally ignoring him as he made sure the next bit would actually happen. Sim hissed as he eased first the shoe, then his sock off. James suppressed an instinctive distaste at the realisation that he would have to touch Sim's sweaty foot, reminding himself that in general, he enjoyed touching Sim's sweaty body, although under different circumstances.

"Not swollen," Sim observed, "but let's have a cold pack anyway. It'll take the edge off." James obligingly grabbed one of the instant packets, activating and applying it, Sim's hand guiding his while James' other hand came around Sim's leg just above the ankle to offer gentle support.

"Those really aren't the best shoes for running," James commented.

"My work boots are still wet from yesterday's experiment," Sim pointed out. While James and the rest of the team had been in a nice cushy SUV pursuing the weather balloon experiment, Sim had been stuck doing setup and cleanup, out in the elements as a summer storm passed over their location. Which had at least offered James the opportunity to lovingly peel Sim's wet clothes off and warm him under the shower in their hotel room… and then keep him warm later, in bed. As if on command, Sim glared at the cold pack and muttered, "Geez that's cold."

James didn't even try to stop the easygoing yet seductive smile from spreading across his features. They'd never been particularly secretive about their relationship; the crew had caught on when they stopped booking separate hotel rooms two or three years ago. "I'll warm you up later," he said, provoking Sim to laugh gently. "Can we get you some better shoes in town? More to the point, can we do it quickly enough to not miss the rest of today's filming opportunity?"

In answer, Sim merely held up the heeled shoe he'd taken off, alongside the flat-soled work boot he favoured. They were drastically different looks. "Continuity would be an issue," he pointed out.

"Less of an issue than safety, Simmy," James fired back.

"It's feeling better," Sim answered. "Let's rest it a few more minutes, then use an elastic wrap, give it a little support, and I'll not run anymore today; it'll be easy. Well, relatively speaking. Anything is easier than that motorbike," he said, reminding James of the brutal week it had been to finish, maintain, and coax their hand-built meccano motorbike around the TT circuit, the last time they'd done one of these projects. While he'd gotten at least some sleep most nights, to ensure a viable film product, Sim and his assistant had spent the overnights working furiously on repairs, leaving an intern to drive the support van while they slept in the back in the mornings, only to be woken repeatedly for further repair tasks. James still harboured guilt about that one. He felt compelled to brush his hand through Sim's hair in an echo of the tender comfort he'd offered when the exhaustion made Sim's head ache, when he could barely think of how to make his limbs move, when it finally pushed him to the breaking point and he'd had to hide in the clock/bike repair shop loo and have a weep. James had asked that the cameras shut off, and they used art shots of the workbench to depict the passage of time while the increasingly irritable team worked, to protect both the viewers and their own dignity. But when James realised how badly Sim, in particular, was coping, he grabbed his chief engineer's wrist and dragged him into the loo, demanding that they "step into my office for a private meeting."

In the small room, James had held Sim close, letting the younger man bury his face against James' shoulder, following him when Sim's legs gave out and he slid down the wall to the thankfully clean-looking floor. Sim allowed his boss, friend, and lover to wrap around his body, giving him the safe space he needed to let all the unhappy feelings flood out of his body in a few minutes, his fist pounding weakly at James' chest in frustration that gave way to grumpy whining and finally an exhausted calmness as he leaned into the hand brushing through his hair and massaging his scalp. James had eased his fingers around the loose fist that had been ineffectually slapping at him, unfurling it and kissing the meccano-caused cuts and scrapes that seemed to cover every millimetre. Sim had still been exhausted, but much better able to think and work after being the centre of James' attention for a few minutes.

Here, at the Action Man filming, James suddenly felt the need to return to that place, the world in which Sim had allowed him to draw out and then meet his exhausted body's desperate need for emotional sustenance. He scuttled around to sit away from the injured ankle, just in case, and wrapped himself around Sim in a way that felt very similar to his memories of the bike incident, as he'd come to think of it.

"What, James? What are you…" Sim gave him a confused look that gave way to concern when he saw the expression of pure need on James' face. "I'm really not this badly hurt, James, it's just a mild --"

"Just… let me?" James asked, tugging his partner into his arms, putting Sim's hand on his chest more or less where he remembered it being, then changing his mind and trailing kisses all over Sim's fingers as if he could still see each cut, each bit of damaged flesh.

"Is this because I mentioned the motorbike?" Sim asked, recognising the resemblance. James made a deep, almost-grumbly sigh in reply. "You know I never, ever blamed you for how badly that project went, right? I'm proud of what we accomplished."

James nodded against Sim's hair. "Still," he muttered. "And now you've gotten hurt again."

"I don't particularly blame you for surface erosion, either," Sim joked gently. "And it's not that bad. Not that I'm complaining about the attention," he added, leaning into James and wrapping his arms around his lover in return. Sim's lips found their way to James' in a quest to confer healing to his partner's heart, where it was clearly still needed after last year's project. "Remember what happened because of that project?" Sim asked, encouraging James to let go of whatever regrets to which he still clung.

"We moved house," James answered.

"Mmmhm," Sim responded, an answer that morphed into a light moan of pleasure at the continued kisses that were starting to get a little bit deeper now and then. "I spent two days sleeping and letting you take care of me at your house, and then you came to mine when I told you I hated it there. And then you told me you couldn't stand mine either, do you remember?"

"We made a list of things we both required, and found a new one together," James answered, remembering the decision as if it had been just that morning. Neither could give up his shed, Sim needed a garden to tend and a place to park his behemoth van, and James needed a secure garage for his car collection and an office big enough to house his beloved piano -- with a Clarkson-proof security system, after what happened to the last two pianos. A few weeks later, an agent had brought them a home with rooms big enough for a grand piano, decent on-site parking, a lovely but oversized garden, and at the other end of the street, a large workshop also for sale, that could be converted into a garage for James' expensive cars. It was even already wired for a security system, which greatly pleased his insurance company. Sim had solved the too-big garden problem by designing a building with separate entrances and a roll-up garage door in the middle to give them the option of a solitary workspace as needed, and they'd built their shed together. He'd planted lovely flowers along the stepping stones James had made of concrete and broken bits of extra tiles and garden pebbles from their prior houses, along with bits of meccano, flat aluminium cutouts Sim made of aeroplanes, trains, and cars, and other random things that represented steps in their relationship, in a stepping-stone mosaic that blended their memories into their new shared home.

"Wish we could go home tonight," James said suddenly. He'd never been a homebody but over the past year or so he'd become one.

"Why?" Sim asked.

James shrugged. "Our bed… our blankets. I don't know."

"The hotel bed and blankets are nice, also," Sim said gently. "And the shower is quite lovely."

"Chose that just for you," James said with a grin. Sim had a very interesting love for a good shower cubicle, James had discovered early on in the relationship. He'd custom-built the one in his home, with a big panel he'd designed to pour water over him like rain, and a handheld shower head he'd found on Amazon, with a glorious massage function. Both had moved to their new home, along with some other bathing-related upgrades Sim had designed while he was at it. So when James found a hotel whose shower included rain panels and wall-mounted massage sprayers, he made sure to book himself and Sim into one of those rooms in specific, even though it meant paying for the extravagance himself rather than putting it on the production's tab.

Sim smiled at the thought that James had planned the hotel with his whimsical preferences in mind. "So we'll enjoy that for one more night. I know it's not home, but we'll be there together… so it's kind of like home."

"The most important part of home," James added. "Ahh… I think they're ready for us." He nodded towards the open door, where their director was alternating between trying not to watch all the kissing, and trying to shoot them meaningful, irritable looks. Sim glanced over, smiled, and kissed James once more before turning loose, just for the joy of listening to Tom's good-natured sound of dismay at the sickly sweet romance he was forced to endure.


End file.
